


Scenes

by aikat3rin3



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikat3rin3/pseuds/aikat3rin3
Summary: A series of one-shots based around two of our monster trio. Generally romance-oriented. Marked finished due to the nature of collections/series.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	1. Tongue-Tied

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

Non-AU

Tongue-Tied

Sanji coughed, harsh and spluttering for breath. There was something blocking his airway and he fought against it, unable to discern what was holding him back from doing so. It was like iron, holding his feet and arms back.

And then he realized that it **was** iron. Cold, hard, iron chains binding his wrists and ankles together.

Sanji hacked again, his tongue convulsing helplessly against the thing shoved down his throat.

**_What the mother-fucking hell is going on_ ** _?!_

Sanji jerked around at a sharp sound to his left and winced, letting out a sharp cry as his head cracked against something hard and cold behind him. He couldn’t see anything. Sanji fought the rising shiver in his stomach, making his spine quiver against the cold… cement. Or dirt. He couldn’t tell. He fought back the bile in his throat, leaning over until his head touched his knees.

He shoved his tongue out, choking again when it hit something and stayed farther back in his mouth than could possibly be comfortable. Another soft keening sound slithered out of lips that had been forced open and held there for far too long if the soreness in his jaw was any indication.

Sanji leaned his head on the unforgiving cold wall against his back, letting his shivers overtake his body for a second as he tried to calm himself and work out what the hell was going on.

_I was… I was with Zoro. Damn marimo had gotten lost… I think. Why did I go find him? What the hell happened after that?_

_Some… some fucking swing joint that the marimo had wanted to go in. But they did have good wine._

_Spiked? With what?_

He wasn’t the best at holding his alcohol, not nearly as good as Zoro was (though he’d die before admitting it) but it had been a long, **long** time since he couldn’t remember whatever had happened the night before one of his infamous hangovers. And it said something about whatever drug he’d been given if he couldn’t even remember the girls that had been dancing at the bar.

… _Music. Loud music… so loud it was… what the hell did that old man say…?_

There was someone, some old man who had directed him and the marimo in the direction of that bar. Sanji couldn’t remember what he’d looked like, but he had said something…

“ _The music is so loud that the rest of the town kicked the place down into the red light district, even though the bar itself is pretty clean. Best booze you’ll find on the whole island, and best girls too. Just make sure not to grab any of ‘em, because they’re all strong enough to kick your ass right out of the bar.”_

Strong women…

_That’s right. We watched one kick some dirty fucker right out of the bar when he grabbed her._

_Good aim too… she kicked him right through the door._

Sanji sucked in another shaky breath, gagging again at the taste that hit his tongue.

Cloth. …No, wool. Grating against his tongue. And some sort of soot.

_A worker’s hat? No, it’s too thick._

_A gag cut from a coat._

That was right, he could feel the pull on his hair where they had tied it into the knot at the nape of his neck.

Sanji sucked in another breath around the gag, forcing his stomach to relax before he pushed against the gag with his tongue again.

Spit dripped down his chin and onto his chest, his tongue was scraping against his teeth and he could taste the beginnings of pieces of skin coming loose and the blood that followed. Sanji convulsed again, gagging as his body tried to fight out the intrusion.

And then it was off.

Sanji hacked, spitting violently to get the taste of dirt and sweat from his mouth, curling in on himself as his stomach threatened to empty itself again. He could feel the cloth, damp from his spit, against his chest. That meant that at least his shirt had been ripped open.

A sudden noise, to his left again, and Sanji jerked to a stop, going silent as he listened.

Nothing.

Sanji shivered again against the cold wall, pulling his knees up to his chest. He let the tremor run its course again, and then let his head drop onto his knees, rubbing against them, pushing the blindfold away from his eyes.

He let out a relieved breath as it slid up over his eyes, coming to rest on his forehead, and he shook it the rest of the way off. As it flopped on the floor, landing on the damp ground with a smacking sound, Sanji’s eyes had adjusted well enough to the pitiful light coming from the tiny window overhead to catch the motion as something moved on the other side of the room. Twitching, the way he had when he’d heard **them** moving.

Sanji tried to keep his breath calm and quiet, but another violent tremor rocked his body and he ended up sucking in another loud and harsh breath.

The figure against the opposite wall twitched again, pressing up closer to the wall.

_Is that… green…?_

“Zoro?”

Softly, barely loud enough for him to hear his own voice, but the reaction was instantaneous. The man moved again, his head tipping up, as if now that he could hear, his sight would have been back as well—Sanji could see the same gag and blindfold from where he was. The light from the moon was barely enough, but barely enough worked for him.

“Hold on…” he grunted, shifting away from the wall and onto his knees, ignoring the painful numbness throughout his body as he shuffled over to Zoro. “Hang on a sec’, Zoro.”

Zoro let his knees slide down from where they’d been pressed up against his chest—maybe trying to stand up—and Sanji winced at the dark stain he could see covering Zoro’s torso. His shirt had been white, and neither beer nor wine was that viscous. _Blood._

Sanji winced again, sucking in a sharp breath as his knee came down on something sharp, letting out a sharp yelp as the involuntary jerk that followed almost toppled him over. Zoro grunted sharply as Sanji yelped, just a few feet away now, looking around and trying to struggle away from the wall with both his wrists and ankles chained.

Who the hell had gotten to them in order to hurt Zoro like that? And Sanji wasn’t even sure how he was; aside from his knee, he was tingling all over and sensations seemed to be a little lacking at the moment. Sanji wondered if that wall had been cold at all, or if **he** was the one cold.

“I’m fine, marimo! Just hold on a fucking minute and I’ll get the blindfold off,” Sanji snapped, hobbling on his throbbing knee as he finally reached Zoro’s side.

His attempt to sit was less than successful, and he ended up with his chest coming down hard on Zoro’s shoulder, right in his solar plexus.

_Damn fucking idiot just has to be as buff as a fucking boulder!_ Sanji coughed, trying to not fall off balance again and right into Zoro’s lap. To his credit, Zoro stayed silent this time, and Sanji was grateful for that.

But now that he was hovering over Zoro, he was blocking the light from the window, and that meant that he could only see Zoro’s outline.

“Sorry if I bite you,” Sanji warned in advance as he leaned forward slowly, letting his chin come to a rest on the top of Zoro’s head to get his bearing before he started working his way down, feeling his way along the marimo’s head until he felt the cloth under his skin.

Sanji grunted in frustration, trying to find a good angle to get his teeth under the cloth without scraping a good hunk of Zoro’s skin off into his mouth. Though he wasn’t sure why he cared at this point. Someone else’s sweaty coat had been shoved down his throat, and now Zoro’s cold sweat was flavoring his tongue. Probably blood too. What was a little skin?

Sanji let out a triumphant “aah!” as the blindfold came away, letting it drop by his knees as he began tracing his way down from the top of Zoro’s head again with his chin, his eyebrows furrowing at the amount of blood he felt as he kept going lower.

He traced along Zoro’s cheek, working his teeth under the cloth again and sliding back on his knees, shaking his head back and forth to try and pull the gag down. His had been sufficiently wedged in his mouth, and if Zoro’s was anything like his, this might be a little harder.

Zoro grunted under the strain of trying to keep his neck straight as Sanji yanked back again, trying to pull the gag from Zoro’s mouth, but nothing was working.

Sanji pulled back with an exasperated breath, muttered some sort of apology under his breath and then bent back in. Well, if Zoro’s blood and sweat was already contaminating his mouth, why the hell not a little spit too?

It wasn’t like the marimo would tell anyone.

Zoro jerked back sharply, his eyes going wide as Sanji’s lips bumped against his.

“Get over it,” Sanji grumbled. “And if you say anything to anyone, I will personally filet your dick and serve it to the next sea king we see.”

Zoro stayed plastered against the wall for a second, but leaned back slowly and tipping his head up to help Sanji’s access.

Sanji had half a mind to tell Zoro to shove it and work the damn thing out of his own mouth, but he wanted what the marimo knew, and he could barely understand Zoro’s stupid gorilla-grunting anyways, a gag wasn’t going to help.

Sanji forced his teeth under the cloth, much quicker this time because Zoro’s lips were softer and more flexible than his jawbone. Not that Sanji was paying attention.

Another aggravating few minutes of yanking later, in which Sanji could actually feel Zoro and himself getting stiffer against each other in annoyance, he gave it a mental _‘fuck it’_ and shoved his tongue past Zoro’s lips.

Zoro’s next jerk was so ill-timed that Sanji, his teeth still hooking in the cloth in Zoro’s mouth, went flying backwards **with** Zoro, his knees slipping unceremoniously out from under him, and he sprawled face first out over Zoro’s bloody chest.

He was going to fucking kill the marimo.

“I ‘aid ‘ucking ‘old shtill!” Sanji snarled, further annoyed by the way he couldn’t fucking talk. Oh, but that wasn’t surprising, you can't speak with your tongue in someone else’s mouth. **His** tongue just happened to be stuck between the dentures of one muscle-headed moron by the name of Zoro. The same one he was now **laying** over.

Fucking ape of a marimo. When the people who did this to them showed their faces, he was going to kick out the exact number of teeth in each of their mouths that his tongue had touched in Zoro’s.

That thought almost made him want to run his tongue over **every** tooth in Zoro’s—

**_WHAT_** _?!_ Sanji choked slightly, his struggle to regain his footing—er, **knee** ing—halted sharply as his brain registered just exactly what he had thought.

Zoro grunted as his head was jerked farther down when Sanji slipped again, and he grunted again in question.

Sanji growled to himself, trying to shake his head before his teeth were yanked on again, again caught by the cloth, and he almost flung himself back into Zoro’s lap just to get the right leverage in order to kick himself in the head.

_Stop talking. Stop thinking. Just concentrate on getting your tongue—NO, just concentrate on getting this damn thing out of Zoro’s mouth!_ **_And_ ** _my tongue out for that matter!_

_Think… mouthwash. And smashing the heads of whoever did this in. And Nami-san. No, better not think of Nami when I'm like this. Think toothpaste, mint, mint tea, ice tea, ice cream, heavy cream, alfredo sauce, noodles, rice, rice and grilled fish, sea king meat, the ocean, salt water—_

_Zoro’s favorite food is sea king meat._

_NO! Stop it! Damn it!_

_I wonder what Zoro tastes like?_

The thought had come up before Sanji could stop it. And his eyes popped that it had even entered his mind.

WELL! He was a chef! And his tongue was in Zoro’s mouth! What the fucking hell was he supposed to do?!

Ignore it. He should ignore it. That’s what he should—

But now the thought had come up…

_No, no, no nonononononononon—_

_Beer. A little sake. Rice. Meat. Some sort of… cow. No, deer. Venison. A marinade, with lemon, and chilies. Scallions. Garlic. No, garlic_ **_salt_ ** _. And the sake was in the marinade. Interesting mix, but good._

And if he could still taste it, no matter what a trained pallet he had, then they couldn’t have been eating too long ago.

_Idiot probably didn’t even taste what he was eating._

_That’s right…_

He had ordered for Zoro, hadn’t he?

Zoro had said… what had he said?

“ _Feh, just something with meat. All meat tastes good with booze.”_

The muscle-head.

“ _It won't taste as good as your cooking anyways.”_

Sanji stilled as he remembered that, blinking twice before he realized just what position he was in and pulled himself back into reality. With one more yank, the gag came free, and Sanji pulled back, letting the cloth fall to Zoro’s collarbone.

Zoro leaned forward, his tongue lolling out as he choked, trying to get the taste and feeling out of his mouth the same way Sanji had. Sanji hadn’t noticed how tightly squeezed shut Zoro’s eyes had been. Had that been from him, or the gag?

Whatever. Didn’t matter.

Sanji turned with a groan, lowering himself carefully so as not to crack his head against the wall again as he sat by the marimo, letting Zoro take his time in trying to get his stomach to settle. Whatever they had been given was messing with their nervous systems, and bad. He had been right earlier, the wall hadn’t been cold—or at least, he couldn’t feel it if it was—he was the one that was freezing.

Sanji waited until Zoro’s strangled gasping had died down to a labored gulping for air and the occasional spitting, trying to remove the taste of sweat and charcoal from his mouth. Zoro joined him in leaning his head back against the wall, his legs slumping in front of him as he relaxed.

“Oi, marimo,” God, he was dying for a cigarette—his tongue rolled absent-mindedly against the place on his lip where it normally would have been, “any idea what happened?”

Zoro let out a long sigh and nodded. Sanji scowled. The idiot would remember. Probably because he could hold his alcohol better, so he could handle the drug better.

“We were at that bar that the old man sent us too, and some woman brought you a complementary glass of wine, because you hadn’t ordered one with dinner. I think you were scared you’d start acting like an idiot around the strippers, like you normally do when you’re drunk.”

“HEY!”

“Seriously though, cook,”

Sanji paused at Zoro’s serious tone.

“…You can't hold you alcohol for shit.”

“ **FUCK** —”

“But there was something in it, I think something pretty strong,” Zoro jumped back to the topic, leaving Sanji growling beside him. “I mean, you were acting dumb—like you normally do when you’re drunk—but that was only like… three sips in. And there’s no way even a pansy like you can’t handle three sips of wine.”

“ **I’m warning you** , **marimo** —”

“And I started feeling odd after I ordered my next beer too. And it was something really strong that they gave us, because I was only on my fifth and I don’t **ever** get drunk until at least my fourteenth. By that time you were gone and drooling all over those stripper women—”

“I was **WHAT**?!?!”

“So I grabbed you, flung your arm over my shoulder, and dragged you out, figuring that whoever wanted us would just follow us anyways. Too bad too, because the food was good.”

Sanji smirked, by now looking for anyway to get back at the swordsman. “But not better than mine, right marimo?”

Sanji’s grin faltered at Zoro’s pensive look that was hinting at the edges of a smile. Zoro shook his head, “No, never better that yours.”

The silence was a pregnant one. And slightly painful too.

_What was that?_ Sanji cleared his throat, “So… what happened next?”

Zoro shrugged, “So I tried to head back to the dock, but they put a damn building right in the way while we were eating—”

_Idiot marimo._

“—and then all of a sudden we were in this alley, and eight guys were blocking the way back out.”

Zoro reached up awkwardly as much as he could and scratched something on his back. “You couldn’t even stand by then, so I dropped you and grabbed Kitetsu and Yubashiri,” he grimaced, “but honestly, I could barely stand by then. I think I took down most of them, except for a few nicks on my chest—”

Sanji looked down at the “nicks” that were still oozing blood, hours later. “Nicks” his ass.

“—and then all of a sudden you were standing there, stumbling in a fighting stance—rolling, drunkard eyes and everything…” Zoro paused, “with a broken bottle you must have found in the trash in your hands. Swinging it around like you thought you were Dracule Mihawk.”

Sanji’s heart stopped, and head snapped around, craning his eyes to inspect his precious hands. With how little he could feel now…

No. Thank god. Sanji let out a harsh breath that had been clogging his throat and let his head tip back to its normal position. Nothing gone. Sanji blinked again, looking back to examine the tiny cut on the inside of his thumb, nestled in the creases of his palm.

“What happened?” Sanji asked when his voice would allow him. He was going to **kill** whoever drugged him and endangered his hands like that. His pride drooling all over those gorgeous women like that? Fine. **Never** his hands.

Zoro shrugged again after a moment. “I lunged for you and grabbed the bottle, to keep you from hurting your damn hands, and something cracked me over the back of the head.”

Sanji considered the blood he had felt on Zoro’s head trying to work the blindfold and gag off. He considered the fact that Zoro had turned his back on his opponent, even though a scar to the back was one of the greatest shames to Zoro. He considered that Zoro had lunged for the bottle, just to protect Sanji’s hands.

Just to protect Sanji’s hands, Zoro could have gotten himself killed.

“…Thank you,” Sanji murmured quietly, and then snarled, “I’m going to kick in the head of whoever did this. They’d better bring an **army** when they decide to show up—!”

Sanji jumped when the door suddenly clacked, the long hollow sound of the lock bouncing around the room. Zoro barely moved, and Sanji couldn’t help but blink at that, and then light flooded the room and Sanji’s tongue fell out of his mouth as he took in how much blood Zoro was drenched in.

The sedative had to be slowing down Zoro’s blood clotting. That was the only thing that made sense. That was the only way Zoro could have had this much blood on him. That was the only reason Zoro would still be this sluggish.

The **fuckers**. Sanji felt his blood seething in his veins.

Two guards stepped into the room, and though Sanji could have taken them out easily with his hands bound behind his back, he didn’t bother moving when he saw them both with tranquilizer guns. If they hit Zoro, Sanji wasn’t sure he could fight and protect the marimo with his hands tied. Besides, Sanji wasn’t even sure if Zoro could defend himself in this condition. He hadn’t even looked up to see the guards. And though the chains on his ankles were flimsy enough to break with one good kick, Sanji didn’t want to test the timing of the guards’ reflexes.

The guards did, however, look a little unnerved that they had gotten the blindfolds and gags off, and that made Sanji smirk inside. So they **did** know who they were dealing with.

Another man stepped into the room, the two guards parting to let him pass. His shit-eating grin made Sanji’s blood bubble and his muscles clench.

“Good morning my friends,” he held out his hands, as if welcoming them. “My name is—”

“Hey fucktard,” Sanji snapped, ending what was sure to be the start of a long tirade, “I couldn’t give two shits about your name, but if you’re holding us to try and get to Luffy, I have two things to say. One: Luffy will never let himself be killed over us, nor could you kill him if the only thing you have on your side are fucking tranq’s. Second: if Luffy shows up and finds his first mate like **this** ,” he jerked his head toward Zoro, “he will bury you six feet under faster than you can realize what a fucking idiot you were for kidnapping us in the first place. So you’d better fucking unchain me and bring me some goddamn bandages and alcohol before this idiot loses any **more** blood.”

Zoro grunted beside him, shifting for the first time, “’M fine, cook—”

“Shut up, Zoro,” Sanji snapped, never breaking eye contact with the nameless man in front of him. What worried him even more was the fact that Zoro did as Sanji said and went silent.

The guards shifted uneasily, turning to mutter something to each other, before the man who Sanji cut off suddenly barked out a short, clipped, high, grating laugh. Sanji hated it. It made his eardrums grind. The man nodded to one of the guards, who scuttled out of the room way faster than looked professional.

Not a minute later, the scurried back in with bandages in his arms, and the man made the other guard aim his tranquilizer gun at Zoro.

“This tranquilizer,” he began with a very high and mighty tone, “works against the nervous system—specifically, the muscles—and the one that your friend already has going through him works against brain activity. Apart, they’re harmless enough, but together, his nervous system will be depressed to such a degree that Roronoa’s heart and lungs—very important muscles—will slow to the point where they cease to function.”

Sanji gritted his teeth and shifted so he was in a bad position to stand suddenly. Well, it actually wouldn’t have made much a different to him, but to anyone else it would have, so it looked good in this situation. “I won't make any sudden moves,” he said darkly.

The guard dropped the bandages and alcohol at Sanji’s feet and moved to unlock Sanji’s cuffs. Sanji had to smirk when he unlocked his ankle cuffs too—maybe they really **didn’t** know who they were dealing with.

“Zoro’s too,” he jerked his head toward Zoro, rubbing his wrists, and the guard did so after a nod from the man. Zoro slumped back against the wall the second the guard was done.

“Water and a light too,” Sanji added as the guard was turning away. They placed a canteen at his feet, and then set up a candle outside the door’s window, so Sanji couldn’t work with the fire to get them out, and so it was away from the alcohol.

With one last grin, right before the man shut the door, he chuckled, “I’m looking forward to meeting Luffy,” and locked the door, his feet clacking hollowly against the floor as he left.

Sanji sent one last vicious snarl at the door before he grabbed the alcohol and a strip of cloth and turned to Zoro’s head.

He soaked the cloth in the clear liquid, sniffing at the sudden bombardment on his nose, and swiped it over Zoro’s hair.

Zoro hissed, pulling away slightly, and Sanji murmured, “Shut up,” under his breath, not stopping even as Zoro cringed away from the liquid. Sanji’s eyebrows furrowed when Zoro again did as he was told without complaint and straightened back up to make Sanji’s job easier. How long would this drug take to wear off? Sanji must have slept most of his off when he was unconscious, and he’d had much less to drink as well. That must have had some part in—

Zoro exhaled sharply, his head snapping slightly to the right of its own accord until Zoro forced it back up.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sanji murmured, leaning forward and blowing on the cut gently until Zoro’s shoulders relaxed. Sanji didn’t stop for a few moments after that, taking in the way Zoro’s wet hair shivered under his breath that was almost in time with Zoro’s own breathing. He didn’t even stop to consider the fact that he’d just basically comforted Zoro and picked up the alcohol-soaked cotton again.

Sanji swabbed Zoro’s hair until his blood was inexistent and then pushed apart the short, green fringes, searching for the source of the blood.

It wasn’t hard to find. Sanji took in the jagged tears in the skin, trying to decide exactly what had been used to make such a rift in Zoro’s skin. Either a splintered piece of wood, or a real idiot wielding a serrated knife. Sanji was guessing the latter, if those guards were anything like the people who’d attacked them.

Sanji whispered another apology before he touched the cloth to the first facet in the slash, yanking it away the second Zoro winced and blowing on it carefully. He repeated this routine for hours—dab, blow, repeat—until Zoro wasn’t even flinching anymore at the contact of the stinging liquid on his skin and Sanji could feel the affects of lowered oxygen taking a toll on his equilibrium.

When Sanji was finally satisfied, he tied a makeshift bandage around Zoro’s head to keep it as clean as he could and shifted around to sit in front of Zoro.

Sanji didn’t even bother asking, and wrapped the hem of Zoro’s shirt around his fingers, working it up Zoro’s chest and as away from the tears in his skin as possible.

“How are your hands?” Zoro asked as Sanji peeled the shirt off of him, being careful not to catch it on the bandage on his head.

“Fine,” Sanji answered automatically, reaching for the alcohol as he tossed the ruined shirt aside, but Zoro caught his wrist as he stretched for the first slice, turning his hand over and over again.

Sanji sighed, relenting to let Zoro look—as he was letting Sanji strip him with no objections—and held his other hand out, palm up, so Zoro could see the cut on his thumb.

Zoro released his other hand to take the one being offered to him, running one of his large, rough fingers over the tiny cut. His brows were knit tightly as he worked over Sanji’s hand.

“It could’ve been a lot worse,” Sanji offered quietly, not expecting much, but Zoro nodded in return and finally released him, settling back against the wall behind him, his shoulders stretched to give Sanji better access. “…And it’ll heal fast. It won't even need disinfecting because it’s mostly healed.” Zoro only nodded.

These cuts were much easier. They didn’t even seem to hurt Zoro when Sanji cleaned them. Sanji felt his chest relax at that realization.

When Sanji was done, he tossed the cloth away and slid the alcohol out of Zoro’s reach when he tried to pick it up.

“Hey—”

“You can't drink that, marimo,” Sanji snapped, pushing it farther away, “this is the one time I’ll ever tell you that and seriously mean it. It’s meant for cleaning wounds, it’s been melding with your half-dried blood, and it’s got methanol in it. Unless you want to go blind, you’ll have to deal.”

Sanji settled next to Zoro, ignoring the swordsman’s grumbling and running a finger absently over his lip where a cigarette normally would have been. Damn.

Not ten minutes later, Zoro started to shiver. What really called it to Sanji’s attention was when he didn’t stop.

Sanji looked over as Zoro dipped his head and sighed, scootching himself to the right until he was pressed up against Zoro. Maybe they would give him an antidote if he yelled a little…

“You know,” he snorted, “we wouldn’t even have been in this mess if you didn’t insist on finding that damn bar in the middle of the damn red-light district.”

Zoro snorted too, his eyes poking out from their hiding spot in his knees to glare in a surprisingly not hostile way at Sanji. “You seemed pretty happy to be there with those women. I’ve never seen you actually touch a woman’s tits before—”

“I DID NOT!”

“And I **never** thought I’d ever see you slap one on the ass. Never thought I’d actually want Nami with her camera anywhere either, but there’s a first time for everything—”

“Oh god…” Sanji moaned, slumping over on Zoro’s shoulder more.

Zoro sniggered to himself. “’S alright, she didn’t seem to mind too much.”

“I’m going to kill myself.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind if I was one of those girls and you did that.”

Sanji blinked, watching as Zoro rested his head on his knees and drifted off, his low, rumbling snore reverberating around the cell. He decided not to consider the underlying reason why Zoro was saying this, drugged or not, and leaned his head back against the buff shoulder. He’d have plenty of time for that after Luffy broke them out.

And right now, Zoro was just comfortable.

Not three seconds after he had come to that realization, a distant rumble echoed through the bars of the window, and Sanji’s head popped up. He looked over to Zoro and nudged him carefully, leaning back—satisfied that he wasn’t dead—when Zoro grunted in his sleep at the disturbance, and then smiled at the next explosion sounding through the walls. That one was much closer. They’d be out of here in less than two minutes.


	2. Nakama in Need

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

Non-AU

Nakama in Need

Sanji’s feet led him numbly over to where the marimo was sitting. Zoro’s swords were laid out carefully on the ground beside him as he leaned forward on his knees, his hands hanging between his legs, his head dipped down, his face hidden by his bandana.

Sanji didn’t stop until he was standing right next to the swordsman, taking in slowly how still Zoro looked and wondering if he was even breathing at all.

Sanji furrowed his brows. Zoro was so shaken up that he had to keep from **breathing** to hold himself together?

Taking a chance, Sanji lifted his hand slowly, stretched it out until he was hovering over Zoro’s head, and then let it settle on top of the black bandana. Zoro didn’t move, didn’t try to swat his hand away, didn’t shake his head, didn’t breathe, and then not a second after Sanji had touched him, Zoro let out a pained, keening sound, his shoulders lurching forward slightly.

Sanji squeezed his hand softly, the closest thing to a soothing rub he would dare with Zoro, lest he break this trance, taking in a slow drag on his cigarette.

Nothing moved—even the air around them seemed painfully stagnant—and then Zoro fell forward, his forehead thumping against Sanji’s hip as his strength all but gave out. Zoro choked on another sob, and his arm trailed upwards slow enough to make Sanji fight not to squirm.

At first Sanji thought Zoro was going to shove him back, and he braced himself for the raw, unstable power that would be behind that, when Zoro’s arm looped behind Sanji’s thighs and pulled, drawing Sanji in those two remaining steps between them.

Sanji sucked in a breath at the sudden contact, Zoro’s head pressed against his hip and Sanji’s thighs against his shoulders, his first instinct to shove back and get himself the hell out of there, but Zoro’s shoulders shuddered again and Sanji couldn’t bring himself to move, hard as he tried.

Sanji let out a slow breath and squeezed his hand gently again.

They were alone, so who gave a fuck, and Zoro was…

Sanji’s throat clenched again as Zoro’s sobbing against his hip became not so silent and he pulled Zoro’s head into his side, holding him there.

Zoro needed him. Who was he to turn down a nakama in need?


	3. There

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

AU

There

Zoro walked up behind Sanji, his heels crunching softly in the ashes, muffling the sound of his boots. Sanji was standing there, his stance lax, a cigarette hanging lightly from his lips. The only thing that would have given away his state of unrest was his arms—crossed lightly over his chest—something that only Zoro would have been able to discern now.

Zoro moved until his chest was pressing flat up against Sanji’s lithe back. Zoro could feel the taught muscles under the fabric of his jacket, vest, and shirt—something that would have been invisible to the eye of anyone else. He slid his arms around Sanji’s waist, pulling the cook gently into his stomach, reveling in the way his breath moved in sync with Sanji’s. He rested his chin on the cook’s shoulder, looking out over the smoking wreckage of the village below. Around them, their traveling caravan began to search for salvageable food and other supplies, along with anyone from this village that might have survived the attack.

It didn’t take Zoro long to figure out why Sanji was so tense. They’d both seen death, after all, countless times; friends, family, enemies, and bystanders. Death was no stranger to the pair. In this case though, Zoro knew exactly what he was looking for.

“You ok?” he breathed, whispering into the cook’s ear so softly that even the wind wouldn’t have picked up his voice.

Sanji let out a shuddering breath—one that he’d been holding, if the sudden rush of movement against Zoro’s chest was any indication. “I will be.” His voice was choked and weak.

Below, buried beneath the clouds of smoke and lingering flame, were bodies. Again, nothing new to either of the two, but Zoro could see it easily. The ribs on the burned corpses. Bones sticking out from skin that was grey and paper-thin. The waxy texture of the flesh. The bodies of people who hadn’t seen food for weeks.

Sanji tipped his head back, leaning it against Zoro’s shoulder as he turned to hide his face in the green-haired man’s neck. Zoro sighed softly at the touch. The feel of Sanji’s breath on his neck—it was his relief in all of this.

Touch was just something they had.

It had taken a while to get over the initial feelings of awkwardness and the unconscious knowledge on an intrusion of space, but now it was a comfort.

It was just something they had.

Sanji’s chest spasmed again and he sucked in a harsh, wavering breath. Zoro tightened his arms around the cook’s thin waist, and Sanji moved one hand from its position crossed over his chest to grip Zoro’s arm.

There wasn’t anything Zoro could say. There wasn’t anything Sanji wanted him to say, and even if he did, there was nothing he could say that could change this.

“ _Just be there for him,”_ Robin had said the last time she was awake, and be there he would. He would always be there for the cook—when the cook hated him, when he was happy, sad, angry, furious—Zoro would stay through it all, just like the cook had done for him.

Zoro noticed the odd looks they received from the others in their caravan, but it didn’t stop him from pressing his lips to the cook’s neck. Nothing deep—just reassuring the cook, again through touch.

_I’ll always be here, Sanji._

Sanji let another rush of air out of his lungs, and then turned around to pull Zoro closer in to him. Zoro moved easily to wrap his arms around Sanji’s neck as Sanji’s arms draped lazily around his hips, his hands linking behind his back. Sanji’s head dropped into his shoulder and Zoro did the same. Maybe the reassuring was for him. Whichever way, Sanji’s breath on his shoulder never failed to soothe him.

Sanji lifted his head, and Zoro did the same to look at him, though the chef never met his eyes when they were this close. It was still too intimate for him.

“We should go check on Robin… make sure the smoke hasn’t gotten to her.”

Zoro nodded and released his hold on the cook, moving away reluctantly as they climbed back up the ashen hill to the caravan.

Toward the back of the line was a run-down cart, a tarp tied over its leaky roof to keep the rain out. Neither Sanji nor Zoro minded the wet, but Robin… Robin couldn’t deal with the rain as she was.

Zoro waited until Sanji had pushed away the door flap and climbed inside before he did the same. Inside was dark—all of the flaps over the windows had been closed to keep the ashes and whatever else was floating around in the air out.

Chopper was crouched beside a makeshift bed laid out on the floor of the wagon, on which lay a dark-haired woman. Robin’s eyes were closed tightly, her breath labored, her face and clothes drenched in sweat, and her fingers twitched occasionally, her dreams leeching into her reality a little too much for Zoro’s liking. Robin had never talked or walked in her sleep before she had gotten sick. Ever. They needed to get the antidote now.

Zoro knew that he wouldn’t find it, but earlier, when he’d been searching the wreckage of the village, he’d been desperately hoping to find a small vile of deep cobalt blue liquid—the description of which was now burned into his brain from how often he’d made Chopper describe it to him.

Chopper looked up and smiled weakly at the pair as they entered. Sanji gave him a weak smile in return and then sat down by Robin’s head. Chopper offered him the damp cloth in his hand and Sanji took it, dipping it into the water near the back of the wagon and running it over Robin’s feverish forehead.

Chopper stood wearily and moved to sit in Zoro’s lap where the green-haired man had taken a seat near the door.

“We just have to get out of the mountains,” Chopper sniffled. “As soon as we’re out, we’ll get food and medicine and she’ll get better.”

Zoro nodded, even though he knew Chopper was probably addressing himself. He knew how frustrated Chopper was at not being able to do anything—just as furious as the cook was that there was almost no food to feed anyone. Dozens of sick people in their caravan, and no medicine, almost no food, and no hygiene—no means of healing someone with a serious sickness.

Zoro reached up and petted Chopper’s head gently. “We’ll get out of here. Soon. If those maps are right, then it’ll only be a few days.”

Chopper nodded, but there was no smile along with it this time. Zoro knew what that meant too.

Robin might not have a few days.

A lot of these people could be saved in a few days, but it might be too late for Robin by then.

Zoro shifted, holding Chopper carefully on his lap as he scooched closer to Robin. He reached out, taking her thin wrist gently in his hand, just holding her.

He would be there for them. All of them. He would be there if Robin died, he would be there if Sanji went insane from watching these people starve in front of him, he would be there if Chopper broke down from being unable to do anything, he would be there if they found out that Luffy, or Nami, or anyone else had died.

He would always be there.


	4. The Feeling of Life

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

Non-AU

The Feeling of Life

“ _I am alive.”_

_Someone told me to say that._

_He. That someone was a he._

_He told me to say it._

“ _I am alive.”_

_What does it mean?_

_I don’t know._

_I feel like I knew, before, but now… I’m not sure._

_I feel… am I alive? Everything is cold._

_I feel… stiff. Hard. Like stone._

_Alive._

_Is that what alive is?_

_No. Alive was… warm._

_But, what was warm?_

_I… remember… I think._

_It was… nice. Comfortable._

_I could feel. And I could feel that it was warm._

_Am I warm now?_

_No. Warmth was… happy._

_I think._

_Is that what alive is?_

_Maybe. I don’t know._

_Why is it so cold?_

_Does that mean that I’m not alive?_

_I feel cold, and I remember that alive was… no, it wasn’t warm. I felt warm, but alive wasn’t warm._

_Alive was… I don’t know._

_What was warmth again?_

_Warm… I remember warmth was… nice. I think._

_Is alive nice?_

_I’m cold. And it hurts._

_Alive wasn’t hurt._

_I don’t remember hurt._

_Alive…_

_Why did I need to remember what alive was…?_

_I… don’t know. It’s gone._

_No, wait…_

“ _I am alive.”_

_Who said that?_

_Their voice… rough, hard, cold._

_I feel cold._

_Were they not alive?_

_Their voice, it wasn’t warm. But I don’t think I felt… I didn’t feel cold hearing that voice. I think I felt…_ **_warm_ ** _._

_What’s that?_

_A hand._

_My hand?_

_I don’t know._

_Is it cold too?_

_Maybe, I'm not sure._

_No, the fingers are moving, so it can't be frozen._

_I'm cold._

_I want to be warm._

_I don’t like the cold._

_That voice… made me feel warm._

_Whose voice?_

_What did he say?_

“ _I am alive.”_

_No, he didn’t say that. He said…_

“ _Say it, “I am alive,” ‘cause as long as you have those three words, you can do anything. I’ve seen you do anything you want, but you have to stay alive. You’d better not fucking die on me.”_

_Oh. That’s why I had to remember._

_Am I still alive?_

_I don’t know._

_I still don’t know…_

_Alive?_

_What did it mean to be alive?_

_I knew._

_I_ **_know_ ** _I knew!_

_Fucking… what does it_ **_mean_ ** _?!_

_Alive. Alive._ **_Alive_ ** _._

_Oh, the fingers are moving again!_

… _Wait, isn't that…?_

_Is alive… movement?_

_Yes, yes it was, I remember!_

_Movement._

_Movement of the… chest. Breathing! I’m breathing… yes, I can feel my chest moving._

_Am I alive?_

_It’s so cold. My back is cold. But my front isn't._

… _So that means… the sun?_

_Yes, warmth from the sun._

_What else…?_

_Bright._

_The sun was warm and bright._

_Is it bright?_

_Maybe. I can't see to make sure._

_But my chest is moving, and my back is cold._

_Feeling._

_Feeling is living too._

_Yes… yes, I’m alive! I feel! I’m alive!_

_Why am I cold?_

_I don’t like the cold._

_Stop._

_I want the cold to stop._

_Where am I?_

_What happened?_

_Why can’t I see?!_

_No, wait— I can see._

_Those are my fingers._

_Move._

_Move._

**_Move_ ** _dammit!_

_They moved!_

_Oh! My chest just… I think that was a huge breath._

_Come on… come on… look up… look_ **_up_ ** _, fucking hell!_

“…Sanji?”

_That voice!_

**_That’s_ ** _the voice!_

_More! Talk more! Please! Please, I want to hear it!_

“Sanji? Can you hear me?”

_Yes, yes yes yes—I can hear you!_

_Oh god, that voice—it’s so strong, beautiful… don’t stop, don’t stop._

“Sanji… come on, open your eyes.”

… _They are open. I know they are, I can see my fingers!_

_Wait, I’m looking down, that voice can't see that my eyes are open—oh god, it stopped._

_The voice stopped._

_No, nonono! Don’t stop! No! Please! Please, fucking god almighty,_ **_don’t stop_ ** _!_

“Ugnnnn…”

“Sanji?!”

_Yes, yes, talk more, more, more, talk more. Keep talking, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop._

“Come on, Sanji. Please, open your eyes.”

_Open my eyes? More? Fine, I’ll do it, just to keep that voice talking._

His eyes drifted open, the blinding light burning the backs of his eyes and deep into his skull.

It hurt. And it was cold. What the hell was going on?

Green. What was with all the—Zoro. Green, Zoro, voice, Zoro, green, Zoro, strong, Zoro, warmth, Zoro, alive, Zoro, love, Zoro, Zoro, Zoro.

Zoro reached up, running his hand over Sanji’s forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and for once, Sanji didn’t care that Zoro was exposing his discolored and unfocused left eye. Again.

“Sanji?” Zoro asked carefully, as if scared to hear what Sanji would— _oh_ —or **wouldn’t** say.

Sanji swallowed, and then had to work to remove his tongue from the bottom of his mouth.

“I’m here… marimo…” he choked out, forcing a smirk, “close… your mouth.”

Zoro flopped back into his chair next to the hospital bed, letting his head drop into his hands as he laughed, his voice drenched with relief. Sanji closed his eyes, swallowing again before he settled back into the bed, only to frown again.

“’S fucking cold… the hell’s it so cold?”

Zoro was instantly up and draping another blanket across his still body, and Sanji sighed as Zoro went to sit back down, except he didn’t hear the creak of the chair again. Sanji cracked his good eye curiously to find Zoro above him, and he licked his lips to ask, but before he could find his voice box again, Zoro leaned down the last few inches and pressed his lips to Sanji’s.

_Ugh, I must taste gross._

“You scared me,” Zoro whispered. “You’ve been out for five weeks.”

_Ugh, I must taste_ **_really_ ** _gross._

“Chopper was talking about…” Zoro winced and didn’t finish, and Sanji scowled.

“I wasn’ ‘bout to fuckin’ die, marimo. You have no…” Sanji frowned, he couldn’t find the word… damn his muddled brain—oh, “faith.”

Zoro sat back down with a small smile, leaning forward to rest his arms on Sanji’s bed. Sanji sighed deeply and shifted his shoulders into a more comfortable position.

“…Will you talk?” he asked after a moment.

“Huh?” Zoro blinked.

“…To me. Will you… talk?”

“…About what?”

“…Anything. Jus’ talk.”

Sanji could feel Zoro’s smile all the way through his eyelids.

“Sure,” Zoro murmured.


	5. Dark Mulberry

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

Non-AU

Dark Mulberry

Sanji’s hands drooped loosely between his open knees as he leaned over the edge of the hospital bed. His breathing was slow, but the sound was much louder than it normally would have been due to the thick mask pressed over his nose and mouth—the only way Chopper would let him inside the room.

Zoro in front of him in a hospital bed, by itself, was nothing strange or new. Neither was the fact that he was unconscious. The difference this time was the fact that Zoro had been unconscious for almost an entire week. And the sickening crimson and dark mulberry lines that Chopper said were his veins showing through his oddly grey skin.

Mulberries were a favorite of Sanji. Good color, a very mild black-purple. Good taste—fairly bland as far as berries went, but that made them easier to use more of. Good for pies and jams. Mulberry wine was also quite tasty.

Now, just the thought of the plum-colored berry made his stomach churn as he compared it to the color infecting Zoro’s skin, dirtying his body and hurting him deep inside. Sanji couldn’t remember the last time the thought of a food had made him feel this way. It made him almost hate himself, to disrespect any nourishment like that.

And still, as his eyes wandered and found the dark mulberry lines that spread like toxic vines over Zoro’s skin, his stomach lurched. His forced his eyes back to the floor.

Chopper had no idea how Zoro had gotten it. No one else was sick. No one else had mulberries strips decorating their skin. No one else had the symptoms Zoro had before he’d passed out. He’d just hit the ground one day, and the next day his skin was littered with red and purple lines that seemed to multiply by the day. Chopper said that whatever Zoro had was isolated to his blood, but he’d found some remnant in his lungs too—hence the masks the crew was forced to wear around Zoro.

Sanji looked up as Chopper walked into the medical room, slipping off his own mask and placing it on the desk.

“The toxin is only in Zoro’s blood and mucus,” he told Sanji in a tired, squeaky voice. He must have been up for hours testing samples to find that. “That’s why I found it in his lungs, but it can't be transferred except through direct contact of blood.”

“The battle at the last island?” Sanji asked quietly, not really needing an answer as he recalled the nasty gash in his shoulder that Chopper had sewn up. Zoro had been swimming in blood that day. Chopper nodded.

Sanji followed Chopper and laid his own mask on the little reindeer’s desk. He settled back into his seat next to Zoro’s deathly still body and placed his hand on Zoro’s forehead, touching him for the first time in five days.

“Just watch for any cuts or blood, on you or him,” Chopper reminded him from his desk as he filed something away, and Sanji nodded idly.

Zoro’s forehead felt like the gates to hell themselves, and Sanji pushed the blankets away from the first mate’s chest, just to make sure that he didn’t overheat, before laying one hand on Zoro’s arm.

Sanji **longed** to touch him more, to let him know—somehow—that he was there for him. But at this second, his forehead and this part of his arm were the only places he was sure didn’t have any blood exposed. He wanted to lie next to Zoro, to hold him and kiss him and whisper that he was there so many times that Zoro would hear it no matter how deep in his mind he was buried. Sanji brushed his other hand over Zoro’s head, hoping that the marimo’s dreams weren’t as fucked up as dreams normally were when people were sick.

He wanted to **apologize** too, more than anything else.

“Do you think you can make an antidote?”

Chopper shifted uneasily. “I should be able to, now that I have the toxin isolated, but…”

Sanji got it, even without Chopper finishing. It had been almost a week already, and Zoro was doing **really** bad.

He might be too sick, even if Chopper does figure out an antidote.

Chopper gave Sanji a weak smile, picking up a few more papers and heading out of the infirmary. Sanji nodded after him as he left, and then turned his attention back to Zoro, resuming the circles he’d been rubbing on Zoro’s arm.

“You’d better not die, you damn marimo.”

Sanji winced as he thought about the day Zoro had hit the ground, and the fight they had had beforehand. He would never stop wondering if he had been what pushed Zoro’s weak condition over the edge—just enough to succumb to the toxins in his blood.

They had been in the kitchen, Sanji hacking away viciously at the garlic he’d been mincing. He and Zoro were screaming at each other again, and the crew was all steering pointedly away from the galley, not wanting to get in the middle of any of it. The small, clear vase with the brightly colored fish in it that Zoro had brought Sanji as a peace offering for their last fight was all but forgotten where it had been placed on the table.

“They all know anyways!”

“I am **not** telling that to Robin-chwan or Nami-swan!”

“What’s the difference?! Every one of them has heard us fuck—”

“Shut up, goddamn marimo!” Sanji shrieked, whirling and chucking one of the wet sponges from the sink at Zoro’s eyes. Zoro ducked and it left a print with a loud “smack” on the wall. The fact that Sanji would have to clean it up later only pissed him off more. “I will **not** contaminate their ears with your filthy fucking rutting!”

“It’s **your** damn “rutting” too, shit-cook!” Zoro pressed a hand to his head as he stood, his balance wobbling slightly. Sanji leapt on the chance, using the headache that he knew Zoro’d had for days to try and shut him up. He’d been desperate. Zoro was right. Sanji knew it. And he knew that everyone could hear them screaming.

Sanji poked him sharply in the temple, making Zoro stumble again. “What, marimo? That dumb muscle-brain of yours overheated again from too many push ups?”

“Don’t touch…!” Zoro swatted at his hand and missed. Sanji jumped at that too.

“The “greatest” swordsman in the world can’t even hit me because of a puny little headache!” he jabbed Zoro’s head again. “You’d better drink some water; marimos can dry up in too much heat! Maybe you should go soak your head!”

“Goddamn… shit-cook!” Zoro snarled, his eyes slightly unfocused now. Sanji didn’t even notice.

“Can't even find a better insult, marimo?” Sanji jabbed him again, and Zoro took another step back, hitting the wall behind him. “That brain of yours really is overheating, because I thought that insults were the only intelligent words in your vocabulary! What, are you having hot flashes now, like an old woman?”

“Fuck, cook, I didn’t know you were so scared of being yourself!” Zoro finally seemed to find his balance again, shooting Sanji a mocking look.

“I don’t want to be a faggot to the women!” Sanji screamed.

“Well then, I guess that’s too bad that’s what you are!”

Sanji’s foot connected with Zoro’s cheek before he even thought about moving. He was seething, so much so that he didn’t even notice how Zoro stumbled after the hit instead of regaining his balance instantly like he always did, or the way he hadn’t seemed to see it coming at all. All he felt at the moment was satisfaction that he’d hit Zoro hard enough to make the muscle-head actually feel it.

Zoro’s dark glare found Sanji’s eyes, Sanji’s chest heaving, and Zoro straightened up and threw open the galley door behind him with a crash without saying anything else. The door swung shut with a sharp “clack,” and then a giant “thud” outside, and then silence. Sanji ran his hands vigorously through his hair—hoping venomously that his kick had knocked Zoro on his ass—snatching the sponge from the floor and going to the counter for another cloth to clean up the wet spot.

“Wow, Zoro,” Nami’s tinkling laughter drifted in under the door from outside, “Sanji really hit you pretty good, didn’t he?”

Nami’s laughter died down, but Sanji was too preoccupied with making sure all of the soap was removed from the floor to pay much attention.

Robin’s voice next. “…Bushido-san?”

“Oi, Zoro? Zoooooooro?” No doubt Luffy was poking him. Sanji’s mind still didn’t make the connection.

“Luffy, how come he’s not moving?” came Usopp’s voice. That one made Sanji blink, his fierce scrubbing halting. But it wasn’t until **Nami** called out Zoro’s name, her voice genuinely worried, that Sanji dropped the cloth in his hand and threw open the galley door, only to almost step on Zoro, who was sprawled out on the ground before him.

From the positions of the crew, they couldn’t see anything, but Sanji took one look at the black eyes rolled back into Zoro’s head, the spit dripping from the corner of his mouth, and the repeated twitch of a single one of Zoro’s fingers, and screamed for Chopper so loud that the vase with the brightly colored fish in it on the galley table tipped over, shattering into a million pieces on the floor, the fish flopping around pathetically in the shallow puddles of water.

Chopper had been unable to find a source for the toxin that had saturated Zoro’s blood, saying that he probably picked it up on the last island, and the only reason he hadn’t been affected sooner was because of how strong Zoro trained his body to be.

“You need some sleep, Sanji.”

Sanji flinched at the sudden tiny hoof on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard Chopper come back into the infirmary. What time was it?

“Later, Chopper.” Chopper tried to say something else, but Sanji cut him off. “I will, Chopper, I promise. But later.”

Chopper nodded solemnly and patted him once more on the shoulder before heading off for the boy’s cabin. Past nightfall, at least, it seemed.

About an hour later, Sanji stirred as something twitched under him. He’d fallen asleep with his forehead on Zoro’s arm, and looked up curiously, wondering if it was just another random twitch, or…

Zoro shifted suddenly, his dry tongue ghosting out to try futilely to wet his even dryer lips. Sanji held his breath, not daring to get his hopes up, and then Zoro cracked one eye halfway, letting it drift slowly around the room until the black irises came to rest on Sanji.

“…’an…ji?” Zoro croaked out, his voice barely audible.

Sanji smiled softly and leaned in, resting his arm on Zoro’s shoulder and placing his forehead against Zoro’s cheek.

“I’m here, Zoro. I’m not going anywhere, ok?”

Zoro watched him for another second, and then his eye drifted closed again, and he was still.

The next time Sanji woke, his eyes immediately found the large needle that was pushed into Zoro’s arm, Chopper pumping something into him that was unsettlingly close to the color of the dark mulberry lines on Zoro’s skin. Sanji’s stomach lurched again, and then a second time as he took in the amount of new veins showing through Zoro’s dull skin, all the same dark mulberry.

“…The antidote?” he couldn’t explain the queasy feeling inside of him that the color gave him. He knew that Chopper would never hurt Zoro, but that color…

Chopper nodded, sniffling, and Sanji forced his spluttering heart to relax. “I just hope it’s in time… his blood is so contaminated…”

Sanji sat back, twisting slightly to crack his back and stretch it out of the odd position he’d been sleeping in.

“Zoro wouldn’t die by some illness,” he said firmly. “He’s too damn stubborn to be killed by anything that would make him look weak.”

Chopper nodded again after a moment and scrubbed away a tear. “We should see improvement soon if this works. His blood will detoxify with the help of the antibodies, so we’ll have to keep draining it slowly.”

“You have to drain his blood? …How will you know when?”

“You can see his veins through his skin because of the poison. It’s making his veins swell and almost bruise. Zoro’s lucky that more of them haven’t burst. When they start to turn back to their normal color and become less visible, we’ll drain a little blood to speed up detoxifying his body, and then his body will produce more blood to make up for what he lost, then we’ll drain more to take out more of the poison, and we’ll just keep doing that until he gets rid of the toxin, or at least enough of it so that his body can take care of the rest and heal him normally. I still have to work on the medicine for his lungs though.”

Sanji nodded as Chopper finished, leaning forward again and running his fingers absentmindedly over Zoro’s arm, tracing some of the dark mulberry lines. Sanji wished that he could press on them and make them disappear, even just for a moment, the way normal skin changed color when pressure was applied.

“I’ll watch him. I’ll call you when the color starts to change.”

Sanji bent down and kissed Zoro gently, ignoring Chopper’s eyes popping behind him.

“Just a little longer, Marimo. You’d better be fine.”


	6. Looking At Him

I don’t own anything but my ideas. AU

Looking At Him

Nami shifted her hands to let Sanji point out yet another infinitesimal detail in the technique she was using to kneed the dough in her hands—one that made no difference to her, but she knew that it was the different between sky and earth to Sanji, so she smiled and nodded, not really paying much attention to what he was saying, but agreeing all the same. She wasn’t even sure if he was expecting her to listen in the first place; he just said it anyways.

Other people were milling about around them in the large school kitchens, but Nami was the only one getting extra credit for her time because Sanji was so renowned for his cooking skills. It was only an hour a day, and she got food to take home. Often times, she made dinner here and didn’t have to make it at home, and it always tasted so much better under Sanji’s guidance. It was a win-win situation, and she was getting three credits for her time.

Nami shifted to the other side as Chopper, fifteen and the prodigy in college, set the step stool up beside her and clambered up to peer into the bowl under her hands. Sanji pointed out something else, and she nodded again, smiling to herself as Chopper gaped at the wonders of Sanji’s knowledge of cooking.

“Nami-san, it’ll be a lot easier for you if you do this,” he said as he rotated her wrists slightly. She did so, smiling, but half-stepped away from him at the same time. She would have to be an idiot to not know that Sanji used to worship her. Whether he still did or not was still undetermined, but she was taking no chances of encouraging anything. She had enough on her plate at the moment.

He **had** been less clingy as of late, but that could have just been him backing off and giving her some space. Which was absolutely preferable. Though maybe he **had** met someone else…

“Nami-san, the oven’s ready for the dough.”

“Oh,” she was snapped out of her thoughts and looked over to the now lit red bulb on top of the oven that read, “preheated.” “So it is. Do I just lay it on the pan then?”

Nami glanced over and winced. Sanji was choking back a grimace. Oh, **now** she’d done it.

“Or…” she backpedaled quickly, “why don’t you put it on there?”

Sanji stepped in much quicker than he normally would have, but smiled genuinely at her all the same and shaped the dough, slicing the top of the bread open in little X shapes. Nami couldn’t help but analyze that smile, trying to pick apart if the light she no longer saw in his eyes when he smiled at her was due to the fact that there **was** someone else in his life now, or because she’d rejected him so much that he’d finally taken the hint.

Sanji stepped back again and let her slide the pan into the oven, and no sooner had she closed the oven door, turning to smile at Sanji again, then the door banged open behind them, and all three jumped so high that Nami almost burned herself on the oven, Sanji almost slipped on some of the flour on the floor, and Chopper almost fell off of his stool.

Nami whipped around to the doorway, where a kid was suddenly standing, **glaring** at Sanji with his arms tightly crossed across his chest.

The kid couldn’t have been younger than she or Sanji—definitely older than Chopper though—and his scowl reminded Nami oddly of the perpetual frown of Ichigo from Bleach, or Squidward from Spongebob. Nami couldn’t decide if Ichigo’s oddly colored hair or Squidward’s green-colored body fit the kid’s green hair better. **Green**. He had **green** hair. The three earrings in one ear were kind of odd too, so much so that it made the normal white t-shirt and black jeans he was wearing seem strangely out of place.

“Cook!” he barked, his low, drawling voice rough and very sultry in Nami’s opinion. “Let’s go! I’ve been waiting for you for an hour!”

 _How does **anyone** with **green** hair know Sanji?_ _Sanji would give any guy with green hair **hell** for it!_

Beside her, Sanji’s normal smile reserved for women had reverted to his normal snarl that he saved for the male populace. He whirled around to look at the clock above the stove, which was flashing “5:14” in neon green.

“Only fourteen minutes, marimo!” Sanji shouted back, yanking the ties on the back of his apron open.

“Let’s **go**! Sensei is going to kick us to hell and back if we’re late again!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji muttered, swiping at the counter quickly with a cloth to pick up any remnants of flour from before. “Sorry, Nami-swan, but would you mind doing the cleaning up?”

“Of course not, Sanji!” Honestly, he asked her this every Tuesday and Thursday. Sanji, now that she thought of it, always left at five on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but she’d never seen this kid before, but that could have been because Sanji was never late before.

Sanji flashed her another winning smile and ducked into the pantry to hang up his apron and grab his duffle bag. The kid at the door, “marimo,” sighed and ran one hand through his short green hair. He stood for another three seconds before his patience seemed to give out again and he sauntered over to where Nami and Chopper were standing.

“Hey, Zoro!” Chopper beamed up at him and Zoro grinned back down as he stuck his hand in the bowl, scooping up some of the dough on his finger and popping it into his mouth.

“Marimo!” Sanji screeched from the other side of the room. “Get your filthy fucking hand out of the bowl!”

Zoro ducked, so fast that Nami didn’t see him move, narrowly missing Sanji’s foot shooting right by his head. Zoro jumped back, practically floating, to his spot by the door, his feet spread firmly and his arms up in defense as he stood grinning at Sanji. Nami blinked at the feral grin that pulled at Sanji’s face as well.

“There are raw eggs in there, you dumbfuck!”

“Yum,” Zoro returned devilishly, like it was second nature just to contradict Sanji, bolting backwards out of the door as Sanji suddenly launched himself at him.

Nami watched through the closing door as Zoro and Sanji jumped into what must have been Zoro’s black pickup truck—because Sanji would have **never** driven something so dirty or beaten up—and peeled out onto the road, speeding off with a screech of tires.

Nami couldn’t get her chin off of the floor. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Sanji had been smiling at this Zoro when he stole some food, because he always killed anyone from the same sex who did anything like that. And Sanji **never** took any guy talking to him like that.

“That’s Zoro,” Chopper supplied for her. “He’s Luffy and Ace’s friend.”

 _And Sanji’s too, apparently._ “How does Sanji know him, then?”

Chopper frowned slightly. “I never understood it the way Luffy explained it. I guess Ace got Zoro to agree to go to that martial arts school that he started teaching recently, Zoro is really good so he wanted the support, and Luffy got Sanji to take the class because he was going to at first, but then Luffy dropped it…? So Sanji decided to go anyways, and apparently he and Zoro had a pretty explosive fight the first day—didn’t even get three sentences into a conversation before they were screaming at each other—tore the dojo apart more than each other, but I guess they impressed their Sensei, so nothing really came of it. Neither of them won is what Ace told me.”

That one floored Nami, and her chin hit the ground again as her mind instantly ran through all of the kick-boxing competitions, the back-alley fights, the TV demonstrations, and the PE class fights that Sanji had utterly **demolished** his every opponent in. And Sanji couldn’t beat this kid?!

Chopper nodded at her expression. “I guess they were just standing there, heaving and gaping at each other, with the whole class gaping at them too. I think Ace beat them three ways to Sunday for what they did to the dojo, and then their Sensei praised their fighting and kicked them outside to do more of it and they decided to get something to eat.” Chopper shrugged. “Stuck together ever since. Luffy told me that the martial arts school won't let them in anymore because they're too destructive, but they spar in the park and the gym. I guess their Sensei comes to tutor them sometimes because they can't get back into the school.”

“…We should go watch sometime,” Nami said finally, and Chopper beamed up at her, nodding his affirmative. Nami looked back curiously at the door that had shut behind them, thinking about the way that… Well, they were so comfortable with each other, and Nami might have been seeing things… but she was almost positive that she had seen that ecstatic gleam in Sanji’s eyes.

The same one that he used to get when he looked at her.


	7. Dark Mulberry Part 2

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

Non-AU

Dark Mulberry Part 2

Sanji knocked gently on the doorframe with one knuckle so as not to startle Chopper, and then pushed the door open, being careful not to bump the tray of food on anything as he walked into the room. Sanji took one last deep breath, and then turned to the sight he knew was waiting for him.

Chopper turned to smile feebly at him, deep bags pulling at his eyes and fatigue weighing down his every muscle. His hat was slumped slightly off of his head and the chart in his hands was held up more by the bed than by him. Sanji looked apologetically at him, wishing that he could trade more shifts of watching with Chopper, but he was no doctor.

And then Sanji looked down past Chopper.

…Zoro.

Zoro’s skin was still dull and lifeless, but the dark mulberry lines had started to fade back into his body. He was layered with an even coat of sweat, dripping down his face, making his hair stick to his head and plaster him to the bed sheets. On his wrists and ankles were chains that held him securely to the bed. Even as Sanji went to set the tray down next to Chopper, Zoro twitched violently, his head cracking to the side and the chains rattling dangerously. Being that Sanji and Luffy were really the only ones who could stand up to Zoro in a match of brute strength (though Franky and Brook were kind enough to offer, they were quickly turned down) the only time he could be “set free” was when one of them was watching—and they didn’t give Luffy many shifts watching Zoro.

Chopper had promised that the delirium would pass soon, but seeing Zoro chained down to the bed for any amount of time made Sanji want to scream and curse at the sky like there was really someone up there to blame. Zoro had already had five fits in his hazy state, in which Chopper had to sedate him four times over before he finally dropped. Sanji hated that too. It made him think of the day Zoro had first hit the ground and the dark mulberry lines had started showing through his skin.

Sanji moved to unlock Zoro’s cuffs, ignoring Chopper’s exhausted squawk of objection. “Go eat, Chopper, and get some sleep. I’ll watch him.”

“But you haven’t stop working all day!” Chopper protested, his voice heavy.

“You haven’t left Zoro’s side in three days,” Sanji returned easily. “Go. If the damn marimo hasn’t changed in three days, he won't in the next few hours. I’ll be fine to handle him if he has another fit.”

Chopper didn’t look to sure, but he took the tray anyways after giving Sanji’s pant leg a pitiful squeeze and toddled upstairs.

Sanji tossed the chains over on the desk—still close enough in case he needed them—and settled back in the regular chair to watch the way Zoro’s eye twitched behind his eyelids.

He sighed, giving in, and leaned forward, running his hand over Zoro’s feverish forehead and trying to wipe away some of the sweat and relentless heat radiating from Zoro’s skin.

“Come on, marimo. You can do it. Don’t let this fucking thing kick your ass. Don’t you fucking dare.”

~~~

Zoro moaned, a dry hollow sound that seemed to get stuck in his throat, trying to unstick himself from the sheets of the bed. It didn’t occur to him that his eyelids had, at one point in his life, functioned and probably could open now, and his futile struggling against the blankets continued.

He could hear… voices…

“Marimo?”

Zoro blinked, confused for a moment at the spread in front of him, until he realized that everyone in the crew was looking at him (except for Luffy, who was already licking the plate clean from his first helping of dinner).

Sanji walked up beside him and his plate thunked down with a sharp clack on the table. “You fall asleep, marimo?” he said gruffly around his cigarette. He looked slightly miffed, and Zoro wondered if he had inadvertently insulted Sanji's cooking by doing so.

“No,” he said tartly and dug in, the rest of the crew following suit after they realized that he was ok.

Zoro blinked after a moment, looking over to Sanji, who—instead of joining them at the table—was leaning calmly up against the counter, his cigarette leaking wisps of smoke from between his fingers. What stopped Zoro in his tracks was the smile on Sanji's face.

He had never seen Sanji look so truly… morose.

…What was…?

Zoro's gaze snapped back to the crew suddenly at the sharp choking sound, and plate in his hand clattered to the table as Chopper suddenly doubled over in his chair, raw terror in his eyes, his arms clutched tightly around his middle.

“Doctor-san?!” Robin was the first one out of her chair, and subsequently the first one to be there to catch Chopper when he suddenly gargled, a smothered sound that stuck in his throat, and flopped sideways out of his chair.

“Chopper?!” Usopp shrieked, out of his chair in half a second flat, but before his inner turmoil to run or not could even kick in, Zoro watched in shock as Usopp coughed suddenly, clapping a hand over his mouth and slumping down heavily into his food.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY CREW?!” Luffy bellowed, shooting up on the table, his head whirling frantically for the unseen enemy. Zoro only had a second to react before Luffy's entire body buckled suddenly, and he flipped forward so hard that Zoro felt something in his arm pop just by catching him.

Robin collapsed next with a sharp, pained cry, and Nami flew to her side in an instant, screaming as Franky crashed to the ground behind her, quickly followed by Brook, his loose skull lolling completely backwards on his spine.

“Sanji!” Nami cried out, her entire body shaking, a thin sheen of sweat on her neck catching Zoro's eye. “Sanji, what is happen—ulgh!”

Her body suddenly jolted with a tremor hard enough to send Robin sprawling from her arms, and then Nami's eyes rolled back into her head, and her decent forward onto Robin's unmoving form was slowed even more as Zoro took in the small drip of blood leaking out of her nose before her face disappeared into Robin's dark tresses.

Sanji.

Zoro's head turned slowly to the cook, who hadn’t moved an inch since Chopper had first choked; Zoro's mouth hanging open slightly as Sanji scuffed the toe of his shoe impatiently over the floor. Zoro couldn’t wrap his brain around it. Sanji's crew—his nakama—were unconscious on the floor, and the only move he'd made was to bring his cigarette back up to his lips.

Sanji sighed suddenly, dropping his smoke on the ground and grinding a black spot into the wood with his shoe. “I knew it would take longer for you, marimo. I thought maybe Luffy too, but I guess not as much. Rubber or not, his body isn’t as trained as yours, is it?”

Zoro seized suddenly, a foreign sound leaping from his throat as his very insides seemed to erupt into fire. His organs were reeling, wrenching, trying to strangle him from the inside out, and he hit the ground faster than he even realized he was moving for the floor.

Sanji pushed casually away from the counter as Zoro gasped on the floor, clutching at his chest, clawing at his skin, trying to force his organs to obey him again. The chef crossed the kitchen, drawing one of his precious knives from the holder with a delicate ringing sound as he came, and crouched down beside Zoro's head.

“…It had to be done,” he said finally, his voice daring to be apologetic as he twirled the knife effortlessly in his fingers. “And I couldn’t stain my knives with everyone's blood. But you…” his eyes drifted to find Zoro's, and through the wrenching pain, Zoro could feel something akin to fear seeping through his veins, right alongside the adrenaline.

Sanji sighed again, looking lovingly at the seemingly innocent blade in his hand. “Well, I suppose you would want to die like a swordsman, right? And I doubted that you'd be ok with me touching your swords, so… sleep, marimo. It'll be ok.”

Sanji's hand raised, holding the knife just so to hit artery without damaging the flesh good enough to use. “It'll be ok,” he repeated, and Zoro felt sick at the thought that Sanji was trying to comfort him through this.

Zoro forced out one last gargle, and the gleaming silver plunged for his skin.

~~~

Sanji blinked, lifting his head from where it was resting against his hand, but Zoro only grunted sharply before sucking in a deep breath, and then he was still again.

Sanji licked his lips and scrubbed a thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated off his neck, settling back down into the chair and checking the time.

He should start dinner soon.

~~~

It took Zoro a minute to figure out why he could smell rubber—burnt rubber—so clearly, and he realized what the smell was half a second before Sanji's shoe caved a hole into the side of the ship where his head had been.

Zoro leapt nimbly away, landing lightly around the shit-cook's precious cooking supplies in the hull. A feral grin split his face, his swords ringing as they were pulled free, and Sanji turned to face him.

Zoro paused, his grip faltering as he took in Sanji's expression. “…Cook, are you—”

The shoe smashing into the side of his head was like a freight train barreling into his body, and it sent him careening through the wooden barrels and crates around him until the side of the ship finally stopped him, and he slumped hard against the deck.

Zoro coughed, scrambling to find footing as he heard those telltale footsteps grow closer and closer. Sanji hadn’t even moved, how had—?

The next hit to his head felt like a meteor had blown through the ship and smashed into him head-on, and Zoro's face plowed back into the side of the ship.

Sanji was relentless. Zoro's blood and hair stained the wood of the ship like a fresh coat of pain, and still, Sanji's heel was seeking out Zoro's pain, driving him deeper and deeper into the splintering wood with every kick.

Zoro's eyes were smashed in, blood soaking through his vision and blinding him, but as his eyes rolled back into his head and Sanji kicked him again, the blood was forcefully smeared onto the wall, tearing holes through Zoro's left eye, and Zoro managed to looked up to find Sanji's gaze.

The chef's eyes were cold and hardened, his eyes lifeless as his shoe drove Zoro's head into the siding again, and Zoro heard his skull crack against the force. It was as if Sanji strove for life, and the only way to get it was to take it from someone else.

Zoro tried to work his tongue—to form the words, Sanji's name—anything—but every time he came close, Sanji's heel smashed him back into the ship's side, and the last time, just as Zoro was about to cry out the cook's name, Zoro's head smashed through the side of the ship, and the stinging, icy, salt water rushed in around him, sucking the breath from his lungs.

~~~

Sanji jerked sharply as Zoro snarled in his sleep, and then his previously lifeless arm lashed out wildly and smacked the cold, wet cloth Sanji had been using to wipe the sweat away from his face across the entire room.

Sanji leaned back calmly, his hands raised and out of the way, as non-threatening as he could be. Could Zoro see…?

But after the obtrusion touching his face was gone, Zoro drifted aimlessly for a second, his arm drifting futilely through the air.

Something was hurting him, or attacking him, and Sanji had no idea of knowing how much danger Zoro felt like he was in. Soundlessly, and as slowly as he could, Sanji reached for the chains where he'd thrown them earlier, but just as his fingers touched the cold metal, Zoro's creased brow relaxed, and his hand drifted back to the bed.

Sanji was still for a second, waiting to make sure it wasn't a false alarm, and then he swallowed and sank back down in his chair.

The chains however, were still secure in his hands.

Sanji growled to himself and ran a hand roughly through his hair, gritting his teeth and forcing down the hot ache that had started to overtake him.

_Don't. Don't you dare._

He wasn't entirely sure if the thought was meant for the marimo or for him.

~~~

Zoro sucked in a thick breath, coughing harshly as the air scraped like sandpaper across his lungs. He tried again, his eyes fluttering as his chest spasmed, starting as something small and warm found his frenetic heartbeat and pressed soothingly on it.

“Zoro? Can you hear me?”

Zoro swallowed, his mind heavy, and tried to find the source of the voice. He couldn’t remember who it belonged to.

“Come on, Zoro. Do you know where you are?”

There was a distinctive sway in the air around him, something akin to iron in the air, or maybe rust. But that swaying…

“Are we on the ocean?” he croaked out, his head drifting to the side to find the voice.

“We are, Zoro, what else can you tell me?”

It took him so long to find the words. So much longer than it should have.

“…The Thousand Sunny.”

“Good,” he could hear the happy squeal-like tone in… Chopper’s voice, and felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. The kid was too cute for his own good. “Really good, what else?”

Zoro swallowed again and twitched his fingers, pleased to feel them rubbing against his clothes. The fabric was hot, and drenched with what he could only assume was sweat. Somehow, his eyes locked onto the light and drifted open, and he found the blazing pink hat bobbing about at his bedside as Chopper poked and prodded him and scribbled endless things onto his clipboard.

“What happened?” Zoro made his voice box form the words, grimacing at their harsh sound and the way they made his throat burn like acid. “How long have I been out?” Something clanked as he tried to move again, and slowly his eyes registered the chains holding his wrists and ankles to the bed. He moved them experimentally, more confused than anything, but he couldn’t find the words for what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” Chopper sniffled, taking two of Zoro’s fingers in his tiny hoof. “You… you kept having fits, and if Sanji and Luffy weren’t around… you were pretty bad for a while, Zoro, do you remember what happened?”

The door clicked suddenly, Sanji’s telltale shoes clunking into the room with a pot laden with spoons and small spice bottles. He didn’t look at either of them and moved to push Chopper’s things out of the way, finding a space for the pot amidst all of the medicines and books. Zoro blinked, trying to find some reason for Sanji invading Chopper’s space. As a cook, he respected Chopper’s office like no other on this ship, why would he…?

“Sanji?” Chopper bubbled. “Zoro woke up, and he knows where he is!”

“That’s excellent, Chopper,” Sanji murmured, his back still turned as he unloaded the pot and set up the spices alongside it.

“Zoro, we don’t have much food left, at all, and the log prose is messed up, Nami doesn’t really know what happened,” Chopper turned back to him, unperturbed by Sanji’s disturbance. Was Sanji still upset about their fight? Zoro grunted and shifted to sit up, ignoring Chopper’s startled screams and threats to never unchain him if he moved before he was ready.

“We don’t know when we’ll hit the next island, just wait so you can save your energy!” Chopper tried to force him back down, and Sanji turned finally, moving to stand behind Chopper.

Zoro’s blood went cold, unable to place the look in Sanji’s eyes as the cook looked down at the doctor. “…Cook…”

Sanji kneeled suddenly, resting a hand on Chopper’s shoulder, waiting until the little reindeer turned to look at him questioningly before Sanji suddenly raised a knife to Chopper’s neck and drew a long, deep slash through his throat.

Zoro choked, his body heaving against the chains as Chopper went limp, dead almost instantly from the blood soaking through his fur and into the floor. Sanji held him tenderly, waiting until he was completely inanimate before picking him up gingerly and carrying him to the counter where the pot was.

“I haven’t told the crew how bad the food situation is,” Sanji said gravely, Zoro staring horrified at him from the bed. It wasn’t until Sanji removed the little pink hat and placed it beside him that Zoro reacted, yanking up with a feral snarl, thrashing futilely against the chains holding him to the bed.

“Don’t fight, marimo,” Sanji whispered, his voice waterlogged suddenly. “You’ve been out for weeks, if you use up your strength, you’ll need more food, and we don’t have any. Nami thinks we won’t reach another island for weeks.”

Zoro screamed, cursing his body to the heavens for not obeying him as Sanji placed strips of bloodied meat into the pot next to him and turned on one of Chopper’s burners. The dark mulberry lines burned on his skin, taunting him, laughing as his desperate screams.

“Sanji, what did you do?!” he wailed, aware of the tears beginning to soak his face and so rabidly enraged—Sanji—Sanji betrayed—their little doctor, their little brother, **Chopper** —

“We don’t have a choice,” Sanji sucked in a violent sob, adding some spices to the pot and Zoro felt his stomach churn as Sanji moved enough for him to take in the pile of bloodied skin and fur on the table, dripping methodically onto the floor. “I divvied up the food for everyone else, but you’ve been asleep and without nutrients for so long—it all would have been gone before you woke up, I have to save this out of you or you’d starve, this way we all might make it.”

“ **Chopper** —!”

Zoro gasped suddenly, shrinking into the bed as Sanji appeared over him with a bowl of meat, Chopper’s smell saturating the room, making his head whirl and his stomach flip.

“You have to eat!” Sanji cried, holding one of Zoro’s shoulder’s back and placing the bowl near Zoro’s lips. “Your body is going to starve soon!”

“No! I wont! I would never! You son of a bitch, he trusted you!” The chains rattled against the bed, straining against Zoro’s weakened muscles as Zoro prayed that someone would hear him and come down. Prayed that somehow they could still help Chopper.

“Chopper won’t have to starve this way! I’m letting him go, I’m keeping him from suffering!”

“Sanji, it’s Chopper!” he tried again desperately, shaking his head as Sanji tried to force the **food** down his throat.

“Look at you! Look at me! Our bodies have already started to eat our muscles and protein storages!”

Zoro’s horrified gaze found Sanji’s face again, tracing the deep grooves in his grey, pasty skin where deep shadows displayed his bones, and then finding his own bones poking through his flesh near the chains holding him to the bed.

“You have to eat!”

“Stop! I won’t!”

“Zoro!”

“Sanji, stop, please! I can’t!”

“ **Zoro**!”

“Sanji, **please**!”

“ **Zoro**! **Wake up**!”

Zoro jerked up suddenly, his hands gripping Sanji’s wrists so hard he could feel the bone straining under the cook’s strong muscles. Sanji’s horrified eyes bore into his, and Zoro heaved, shaking as his eyes flicked around the room, blinking as he found Chopper standing next to the bed, hiding behind his hands as he tried to stifle his sobbing.

Zoro swallowed heavily, his throat ablaze from the screaming, and he slowly peeled his fingers from Sanji’s wrists, laying back carefully onto the bed, still choking on his breath.

“Zoro?”

Zoro’s head snapped to Chopper’s meek voice and the reindeer flinched. A rush of air left Zoro’s throat and he let his head drop back, drinking in the sound of Chopper’s hooves against the floor as he toddled to Sanji’s side.

“Z-Zoro… I figured out a cure for the poison, but your body’s still fighting off the fever… i-it’s causing some delirium… do you remember?”

Zoro’s eyes drifted open, and he lifted his hands to find the fading purple striations across his skin—much more prominent than they had been. He **did** remember. Chopper told him the last time he was awake. Zoro laid a the hand across his eyes and tipped his head back, a clipped laugh breaking the silence for a moment as he bit down darkly on his tongue.

“…Chopper,” Sanji’s gentle voice filled the room. “Can you give us a moment?”

“Uh… sure, but call me if something happens!”

Zoro listened as Choppers hooves crossed the room and left, the door clicking behind him, and then Sanji’s hand found Zoro’s shoulder.

“It’s ok, Zoro. You’re awake now, it’s over.”

Zoro nodded heavily and moved his hand, reaching slowly for Sanji as he fought the stinging in his eyes and throat.

“It’s over,” Sanji gripped him tightly, a feral grin splitting his face. “You’re already **dead** , it’s all **over**!”

Zoro yelped at the ear-splitting cackle, shooting back and smashing his head into the wall as he stared, wide-eyed at Sanji as Sanji raised his hands, leaning back in the most unaggressive way he could. Zoro followed Sanji’s throat as the cook swallowed, a whimper rolling off his tongue as he lowered his head. He couldn’t stop the noises, or the voices, or the faces. It wouldn’t stop.

“Whatever you’re seeing,” Sanji’s murmur found him through the blackness, “or hearing, or feeling, I promise, it’s just the delirium. Whatever’s happening, it’s not really there.”

Zoro couldn’t move, too scared that any stimulation would send his sensual equilibrium reeling again, holding his breath as tightly and calmly as he could as his teeth sank into his tongue. Sanji sighed deeply, seeming to understand that the words wouldn’t help, and scootched carefully towards the first mate’s open back.

He laid his hands on Zoro’s shoulders gingerly, waiting to see if the larger man would react, and when he didn’t, Sanji climbed up onto the bed an behind Zoro, pulling the swordsman into his chest and laying his head on Zoro’s back, his powerful legs up around Zoro’s sides. He leaned back slowly, waiting until Zoro accepted his presence there and went back with him, settling on Sanji’s torso and letting the cook surround him.

Sanji breathed in Zoro’s scent, unclouded by the stench of the poison in his blood and ran his thumbs over Zoro’s skin, watching the tendons in his wrists ripple and contemplating the way the first thing Zoro had done when he’d woken up was to take his hands out of danger, even though whatever he’d been seeing clearly tormented him. He listened as Zoro’s breath evened out and his head tilted to the side, resting heavily on Sanji’s shoulder, and Sanji laid a kiss on his temple, hiding his face in Zoro’s hair.

Sanji’s eyes found the door as it clicked softly and Nami stepped in, pausing for a second before she continued to the bed and took Sanji’s place in the chair beside the bed. Sanji just stared at her, unable to say anything as every unpleasant emotion he’d ever felt welled up in his throat.

“…Nami-san—”

They both jolt as Zoro moaned suddenly, his body twitching against something unseen, trying to jerk away from Sanji’s hold, and Sanji wrapped himself around the swordsman’s body, the tension in him wound tighter than a clock.

“I’m sorry, Zoro.” The words were pouring from his mouth. Things he’d wanted to say, everything he’d wanted to say for weeks, everything he’d been so terrified that he’d never have the chance to tell the damn marimo. Everything came out. “I didn’t mean it. Everything I said, I didn’t mean it. We’ll tell the crew when you’re better, You were right, hiding it isn’t what nakama do. Please, marimo, I’m so sorry.”

Sanji trickled kisses down Zoro’s face, ears, and neck, and slowly the first mate relaxed, his body drifting back into Sanji’s, and almost instantly his breathing was calm again. Sanji gripped him tighter, shutting down a frantic sob and burying himself in Zoro’s shoulder.

He was hyperaware of how close he was to the dark mulberry, and it made his blood roil. He cursed it for touching Zoro and keeping him from Sanji, and prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that he’d never see anything the same color again, lest he rip it open and sink it to the bottom of the sea for daring to touch his marimo.

Sanji looked up sharply as Nami daintily cleared he throat. He’d completely forgotten that she’d come in.

She’d seen him kiss Zoro.

Sanji couldn’t move for a moment, his mouth lolling open, and then Nami smiled uneasily and handed him the glass of water she’d bought.

She coughed. “Chopper, uh, said that his body temperature was making the room hot… I thought this might help.”

Sanji took it from her, sipping it silently before placing it on the table and dipping his fingers in the cool liquid, running his hand through Zoro’s hair.

“Thank you,” he more whispered than said, but she nodded anyways, having heard him or not.

A moment passed where the room was smothered in a gut-wrenching silence, and then Nami looked away from them, fiddling nervously with her fingers.

“If… it’s any consolation, we all knew.” She paused, chuckling to herself and trying to relieve the tension in the room. “Guys don’t really keep their voices down.”

Sanji ducked his head, his hand stilling on Zoro’s head. “I knew you all knew… I just didn’t…”

Sanji winced at the grate of the chair against the floor, expecting her to leave, but blinking when she leaned against him and wrapped her arms around him, careful not to disturb Zoro.

“He won't blame you for being scared,” She whispered into his neck. “You two never get scared—I didn’t think it was even emotionally possible, so you get a free pass this time.”

“…I love him.”

“I know. He won't leave. You don’t have to be scared about that.”

“It's been three weeks.”

“Trust him. He loves you too much to leave.”

Nami pulled back and leaned down suddenly, pointing threateningly at Zoro. “You kick this thing's ass, you hear?”

Sanji started, realizing suddenly that Zoro’s eyes were open again. For one moment, it looked like he was going to crack a smile for her, and then he seemed to think better of it and let out a rough grunt before his eyes settled closed again. Nami, however, did smile before sitting down again in the chair, leaning back happily as Sanji tipped his forehead into Zoro’s green hair.

Zoro’s answer was as clear as if he’d spoken it out loud:

_Like I’d let this kill me, witch._

Sorry it took me so long to finish this! Hope everyone enjoyed :) (Like I could kill Zoro off. HA!)


	8. Kuina

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

AU

Kuina

Zoro grunted as Sanji slammed another box into his arms, adding to the already massive stack of boxes and forcing the crick in his shoulder to bend just a little more. The boxes were all crammed full of useless crap. Every single one of them. Reams and reams of paper, more markers than any one person could ever possibly use over the course of one lifetime, pens with colors entirely too specifically coded and coded, rulers and stencils and angles and compasses and other useless crap that Nami really should have been hiring someone else to heave around for her. Harpy witch. Or at least she could pay them, but Sanji was hearing none of that.

Zoro grunted, continuing to stew in his bitter thought process as he shifted the boxes carefully into a less uncomfortable position. Sanji snorted loudly at this and Zoro glared into the cardboard, imagining his eyes burning a hole through the box and singeing a mark right smack dab in the bull’s-eye of the cook’s stupid dartboard brow.

“You knocked it out of my grip, shit-cook!”

Sanji pointedly ignored that. Probably because the great barrier keeping Sanji safe at the moment was a couple pieces of cardboard. That and the fact that Nami would literally drown him in his own debt if he dropped any of it. It was all far too amusing, and Sanji was reveling in the fact that he could have as much fun as he wanted with it and still come out winning later.

“Come on, Marimo, we got stuff to do. There’s no time for you to be coming up short on the job. You can do that on your own time.” Sanji grinned impishly as he said this, half-dancing just around Zoro’s box-obscured vision as he hefted his own stack of boxes into his arms.

Zoro glared harder into the box that was jamming his nose up into his skull, grumblings that he would show Sanji just how short he was later drifting around the obstacle. Sanji smiled again—hoping that Zoro would do just that. He let himself have the full-blown grin because he knew Zoro couldn’t see him.

“This way, little lost Marimo… follow the sultry sound of my voice~”

Zoro felt a tick in his eyebrow developing and the brown flimsy material crinkled slightly in his fingers as he clenched them. Sanji was going to pay for this later; Zoro was practically swearing on his life right now.

Zoro inched his toes along carefully, moving as slowly as possible so that the only motion that could possibly upset the boxes right now were his feet, and if he kept his torso motionless, those chances were pretty low. Sanji’s chortling directions led him down the hall and towards the stairs, and with every step Zoro took and every word Sanji catcalled in his direction, the box took on more and more of an indentation of his fingers. He was really relying on the duct tape way too much to save his ass right now.

“Hold up, stairs in just a few more feet.”

Zoro grunted and rotated himself slowly to the left so he could use one of his eyes to see past the boxes to his left and find the stairs. The stairs that—with four boxes just barely squeezing past the boards and pipes jutting out of the ceiling—quickly became the stairs of death in Zoro’s eyes. Zoro was pretty sure the reason Nami asked him, Sanji, and the other guys to do this was so that she could charge them arm and leg if something happened, which, considering all of the loose floor boards, exposed nails, rusty pipes, broken hinges, moldy wood, leaking faucets and other hazardous items in this damn obstacle course, was a very viable accusation. Knowing the harpy witch.

“Go slow, you’ve just got another couple of inches.”

The box crunched audibly in Zoro’s hands as he twitched, and then immediately caught the doorframe of the narrow hall as its contents shifted. Zoro grunted and leaned back, thunking his head against the peeling paint as he tried to center the weight in his arms again. He held that position for a second until he was sure nothing would go sprawling down the stairs.

“Just go, shit-cook, you’re the only thing messing me up here.”

“I am going, just keeping walking.”

“Get your hand off the box!” Zoro shifted again as Sanji’s fingers, trying to steady him, pushed his line of gravity to the right again.

“Jesus, Marimo, you can’t see shit, will you just—”

“Watch your own damn stuff!” Zoro jerked the boxes away and righted them against his chest, now significantly less comfortable then they had been before.

“Will you stop freaking the fuck out?! I’m trying to—”

“I can’t see because you’re in the way! Just turn around and—”

The stairs creaked sharply under them suddenly, and Zoro heard Sanji’s sharp intake of breath like a gunshot over their yelling. In an instant Zoro’s heart stopped, so unused to a sound like that coming from Sanji. His one exposed eye landed on the cook’s startled expression before the box fell from the Sanji’s hand and the blonde hair disappeared below Zoro’s line of vision.

Zoro jolted, swinging the boxes to the right where they crashed against the wall and pinned him to the opposite side of the thin staircase, giving him full view as Sanji tumbled backward down the stairs, the contents of the box bursting around him like a water balloon. The flying pens and markers seemed to frame Sanji as he reached out to catch himself, and then before his fingers could find the splintering railing, his head hit the wall and his neck snapped sharply in the wrong direction.

_The sound of small soles thudding against the creaky old floorboards echoed above Zoro’s head, and he grinned excitedly and hugged the heavy sword to his chest. The thick smell of the scabbard filled his nose, and a smile split his face as he imagined the smell of the steel that would follow._

_Zoro wiped the look of happiness from his face and replaced it with the best serious one he could muster up in his exuberance, dashing outside with the sword in his arms. He whirled around to face her when he came to the top of the hill where they always fought, sliding the sword from it’s sheath with so much delicacy he almost convinced himself for a second that the sword would shatter like the stained windows of the church the second it connected with hers._

_He glanced to the side of the house at the bottom of the hill where her sword had been left. She wouldn’t fight him without sharpening it, and he wouldn’t let her fight without sharpening it. They’d both learned too much about respecting swords to go into this without thanking the sword for everything it was about to give._

_His eyes found the front door of the house again as he heard her on the top steps of the stairs and he took a deep breath in through his nose. He laid the sheath down on the ground beside him, taking the hilt of the sword carefully in both of his hands—so small against the amazing instrument—and letting the energy fill him._

_Zoro closed his eyes in one last attempt at meditation—as Sensei had always told him to—and had barely sucked in one more rushed breath when a sudden, heavy thumping from inside the house jolted his eyes back open. Three, four, five, six… and then nothing._

It was a dream he’d had far too many times.

Zoro didn’t remember dropping his own boxes. They just weren’t in his arms all of a sudden. He lunged for Sanji, using the wall to shove himself forward as the cook’s eyes scrunched shut in pain, his head forced in the opposite direction of his body as it followed the rest of the box’s contents down the stairs.

Zoro grabbed Sanji’s wrist, yanking the blonde out of his awkward position against the wall and into his chest as he lost his own footing and they both went crashing down the stairs, Zoro’s ribs taking most of the fall for them as they hit every wall and loose board on the way down.

“What the hell happened?!” Nami screamed as she dashed back into the building, everyone else close on her heels, all having been waiting by the truck for Zoro and Sanji to come down, since no more than one person could fit on the stairs. She paused at the bottom of the stairs with her mouth hanging open, flakes of paint fluttering down around them as Zoro and Sanji lay buried under mountains of paper and writing debris.

“Oh, you idiots are going to pay for everything,” she finally hissed dangerously, her hands clenching into fists. “Those were my favorite pens, I got those in college.”

“Nami-swan!” Sanji bust into apologetic song, shoving himself away from Zoro. “I’m so sorry! I will—!” he stopped abruptly as the hand Zoro had on the back of his neck, initially holding him protectively into the muscular chest, clapped down suddenly against his spine and flattened him back into Zoro’s sternum. He was just glad that the motion—though it had crushed his nose into Zoro’s t-shirt—left him enough room to breathe, because for whatever reason, Zoro was holding him so tightly that he couldn’t move his head at all.

“’oro,” he mumbled, grinding the heels of his palms into Zoro’s muscles, rock hard from holding him so tightly. “’ey, ‘ipshit, ‘et the ‘uck go.”

Sanji’s movements slowed, perplexed by his partner’s lack of response—something he’d trained out of him after years of being together, thank god—before picking up again and he thumped his fist hard against Zoro’s bicep.

“’eriously ‘ucker, ow! My neck ‘ucking hurts!”

“…Zoro…?” Chopper’s meek voice drifted in through Zoro’s arms and Sanji stopped moving again. “Are you ok?”

Zoro swallowed heavily as he reached four—back down from fifty—until his heart rate returned to a normal speed. He finished counting slowly, waiting until he reached one and took a breath before he released Sanji. But even as Sanji sat up on top of him, completely unharmed, the feeling of the cook’s spine moving against his palm brought the sound of that curt, soft, watery crunching slamming back into his brain and he clenched his eyes shut, his jaw popping as he ground it. He clenched his fist around the doorframe at his side, scraping his skin against the decaying wood for any feeling other than that. Even Sanji’s warm body on top of him felt weird, and he swallowed heavily at the realization that he was waiting for it to start to lose its heat.

“…Zoro?” Sanji tried again, reaching out slowly to touch him when Zoro shot up suddenly and sent Sanji toppling unceremoniously backwards off of him and into the pile of art materials.

“Hey!” Sanji barked angrily as Zoro heaved himself to his feet and marched out, shoving through everyone else in his haste to get to the street. “What the fuck are—where are you going?!”

Zoro gave no signal at all that he had heard him, his heavy boots clomping farther and farther away down the street with every second that Sanji couldn’t find his tongue.

_What the fuck had…? …What the_ _**fuck** _ _…?_

Sanji clenched the stairs under him in his fist and gritted his teeth before screaming, “Don’t leave your mess here, asshole!”

“If anything is broken here, I swear I’ll make him pay until he’s indebted to me long past he’s rolling over in his grave,” Nami snarled, dropping to her knees and sifting through the pile. “Nojiko gave these to me for my twentieth birthday. If that lead-brained idiot broke even one of them…”

Sanji pulled himself back to the situation at hand, resolving to find his lead-brained idiot later, and began following Nami’s lead. “I’m so sorry, my sweet Nami-swan. This was unbelievably careless of us. If any one of these is even scratched I will replace it without hesitation, no matter what the cost.”

~

The past week had literally been hell. Sanji had gotten home that night to find Zoro drinking himself into a stupor at the kitchen table and trying to glare a hole through the bottle. The bottle of their three hundred dollar scotch, specifically reserved for very special occasions. Zoro had gone through two hundred and forty dollars worth.

Sanji had barely grabbed the neck of the bottle, let alone start to move it away from the table, when Zoro’s hand snapped around his, holding him fast where he was standing. They met each other’s eyes with glares rivaling the ones they used to exchange during the time they thought hated each other before becoming a couple, and that was all it took for the situation to snap. The fight had literally taken half a second to start after that, and the rest of the scotch was lost along with two chairs, a lamp, and a couple of glasses that got caught under a falling bookshelf. Most of the things on the bookshelf were also a lost cause.

Afterwards, Sanji had lit a cigarette right in the shower as he cleaned up and Zoro did some haphazard glass-removal so they didn’t have to call Chopper over—a system they’d gotten pretty good at over the years. Sanji was so unbelievably ready for make up sex that he went through the entire pack before he was even done washing his hair, and had to fish out another box while dripping water everywhere to finish the rest of his shower. But when he’d finally stepped out of the bathroom—a whopping nine and a half minutes later—Zoro was already passed out in bed, lights on and everything. Sanji had stood there for five whole minutes just gaping. He couldn’t remember a time **ever** when they had gone to sleep before make up sex. Neither of them held grudges and if they didn’t have it before going to sleep then the opportunity was lost by the time they woke up. You know, with the Marimo being a lead-brained idiot and all.

Zoro was as volatile as when he and Sanji first met. Every night he drank—coming home with his own alcohol after Sanji hid their good stuff—and every night they fought. Thursday they hadn’t even progressed to a physical fight. They’d just screamed and screamed at each other until Sanji was literally rolling up his sleeves in anticipation, when out of nowhere Zoro had turned on his heels and marched out the front door, tires screaming as he tore into the night.

The worst part was that when they weren’t fighting, Zoro was ignoring him. He wouldn’t answer his calls, he wouldn’t return Sanji’s irate messages, he wouldn’t speak to Sanji if the cook tried to corner him at work; it was like they’d never gotten involved at all. It was like the last five years of living together had never happened, and it made Sanji angrier than he could ever remember being. The night Sanji burned the soup though was the last straw.

“ **Who fucking burns soup**?!” he screamed as he threw himself into his car and gunned the engine, flying out into the road. “ **How do you even fucking burn SOUP for Christ motherfucking sake**?!”

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he realized with an actual physical start that made him shoot up in his seat and hit his head on the ceiling that he’d walked out of the Baratie in the middle of his shift, which only made his blood boil more and the steering wheel creaked dangerously in his grip as he slammed the gas pedal to the floor of the car.

Sanji slammed on the breaks in front of the house and left the car right where it came screeching to a halt just before hitting their mailbox as he kicked the car door open viciously, and the kicked it closed even harder before marching up the front steps to their house.

He threw open the door where it slammed against the wall and stuck, the doorknob jammed tightly in the plaster. Sanji seethed, yanking it free and kicking it closed with everything he had in him before storming into the kitchen, where Zoro was, **again** , sitting with a near-empty bottle of sake.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” he screamed, finally eliciting a reaction out of Zoro. The swordsman’s dark eyes popped and he sat up straight in his chair, staring back stupidly at Sanji.

“Ever since that day at Nami’s fucking apartment you’ve been acting like a PMSing, infantile, stuck-up, whiny little bitch!” Sanji snarled as he advanced on Zoro, fully intending to kick every single tooth back up into his head where they’d been when he was born. “And I swear to fucking god and everything else that could save your soul from what I’m about to kick you into, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on—!”

Sanji hadn’t even realized how far he’d gotten during his tirade until Zoro stood up suddenly in the middle of this rant and kissed him, a lot closer to Sanji than he had been when Sanji started. Zoro’s hands slid around his shoulders and then up to hold his chin gently, and Sanji was left standing there like an idiot with his arms hanging at his side as Zoro held him tenderly, all of the tension in the room dissipating in a single instant.

Sanji blinked, entirely unsure about what he was upset about before as he stared, and Zoro pulled away. He met Sanji’s eyes for a second, and looked like he was about to say something before a pained look crossed his face and his eyes flicked away to the floor.

Sanji snorted after a moment and moved to take off his shirt, happier about this than he probably should have been. “You’ve been this pissy just because you haven’t gotten any lately?” he asked snarkily, but he’d only gotten two buttons undone before Zoro’s hand clamped down on his fingers and stopped him.

They were still for another moment, Sanji blinking up at him, at a loss for anything to do in this situation, before Zoro leaned in and kissed him a second time, tugging Sanji’s shirt closed as he did, and then pulled away again to lay his head on Sanji’s shoulder. Sanji’s lips dropped open with a tiny pop, and he looked down to find Zoro burying his eyes in his neck.

“…Marimo?” he asked carefully, his hands finding Zoro’s wrists. “…Zoro?”

Zoro shuddered, and then sucked in a heavy breath before letting it out again in a rush that tickled Sanji’s skin. That area was one of his more sensitive spots. One that Zoro normally loved to work on. Not today, for whatever reason. Sanji felt a cold pit drop into his stomach. The Marimo wasn’t going to… no. No, he couldn’t.

A subdued voice finally rose up from Sanji’s shoulder, muffled from the cook’s shirt and the lack of energy behind it. “…She died that day.”

“…Who?”

“When you fell down the stairs. She died that day.”

“…Who?”

“…”

“ **Oh**.”

It all made so much sense so quickly that Sanji was kicking himself for being so stupid and missing it. Especially with Zoro holding his neck that day… Jesus he was so fucking stupid.

“Come here,” he said gently, leading Zoro by his wrists into the living room where Sanji nestled himself into the couch before pulling Zoro down on top of him, settling him in between his legs. He leaned back into the cushions and waited for Zoro to get comfortable, which he was honestly expecting to take a while because this was not something they normally did—at all, let alone with anyone else, but they were barely there a second before Zoro wedged his arms between Sanji’s back and the couch to wrap his arms around the cook’s middle, and then his head found a place on Sanji’s chest and he was asleep.

~

Zoro blinked, his eyes slowly coming into focus with the bleary, low light of the living room lamp. He hated that lamp. Sanji said it set the mood. Zoro thought it set them up for cataract surgery.

He took in a deep breath and Sanji’s scent filled his nose, washing over him like the warm waters of a tidal pool and draining the tension that had set itself in his body like an extra skeleton jutting into his nerves over the past week. He’d missed this.

Zoro glanced up as Sanji shifted, and the sound of the pages of a book sliding against each other slipped past Zoro’s ears as Sanji turned another page. He was wearing those stupid orange glasses again. Zoro was going to bet him on when he would have to get surgery—not if—but he did look good in them. Sanji was right about that.

Zoro gazed up at him quietly for a minute, watching the subtle back and forth flick of Sanji’s gaze across the page before the tranquil grey-blue eyes met his.

“You up?” Sanji asked finally, turning another page and Zoro thought about that for a minute, taking in the heat of Sanji’s body and the sound and feel of his breath against Zoro’s body, and decided that he wasn’t just yet. Zoro yawned after another moment and turned his head back into Sanji’s chest, giving the chef a gentle squeeze before he drifted off again.

Sanji paused at the end of his page and looked down at the mop of green hair clashing with his shirt. His head tilted to the side, and Sanji flipped the page quickly before letting his hand come to rest on top of Zoro’s head.


	9. Kicked

I don’t own anything but my ideas.

AU

Kicked

Sanji inhaled deeply on the joint tucked between his fore and middle finger, right at home where his cigarette—now in his other hand—usually rested.

Beside him, Zoro waited patiently until Sanji had pulled the thick-smelling drug from his lips and inhaled to suck the smoke farther into his lungs, turning the joint around to make sure the cherry was still lit before he passed it over to Zoro.

Sanji leaned back on his hands, letting his chest expand fully to coat every possible red blood cell with THC. He grinned, smoke leaching out from between his teeth as Zoro coughed heavily around the joint, fighting to keep the smoke down.

“You doing ok?” he asked coolly, letting the rest of the smoke into the air. Zoro turned to glare at him, trying to snap back a retort, but his diaphragm had other ideas. Sanji laughed loudly, throwing his head back as Zoro doubled over again, smoke spewing from his lips. Sanji reached out and plucked the joint from Zoro’s hand, slipping it between his lips as he waited for Zoro to get ahold of himself.

“…Pussy.”

“Fuck off, cook,” Zoro rasped, flopping back on the grass under the quickly darkening sky to bask in the cloud settling over his mind.

Sanji grimaced, taking the joint from his lips and holding it out over Zoro’s chest. “Don’t call me that.”

Zoro blinked up at him before taking the joint and inhaling again. Sanji could already see him straining to keep from coughing, but he couldn’t keep it in for very long.

“Why?” he choked out around sharp coughs. Sanji, noticing that the cherry had gone out, dug around in his pocket and passed Zoro his lighter.

“Because I’m not.”

“Yeah you are.” Zoro sat up, joint in between his lips as he flicked the lighter to life, holding it gingerly up to the end of the joint. “And a damn good one.”

Sanji shot him a flat look, bringing his cigarette up to his mouth, THC suddenly not doing nearly as much as he needed.

“Or you will be someday. It’s not like you could stand to be anything else.”

“Do you even know how much culinary school costs?” Sanji snapped, snatching the joint from him once Zoro had inhaled. Zoro made a face at him but didn’t protest otherwise.

“We’ll pay for it.”

“Who’s this “we”?” Sanji asked rudely, voice dark.

“You’re helping me with my dream. This is yours. We’ll pay for it and find scholarships and shit.”

Sanji handed him the joint back. “It’s almost kicked. And me agreeing to go with you to your tournaments isn’t support, it’s boredom. There’s shit else to do in the ghetto and you’re splitting the gas that’s getting me out of this shit hole. Win win.”

“Sure,” Zoro muttered. Sanji could practically hear him rolling his eyes just through his voice. Zoro reached down and scrubbed the burnt-out butt into the grass before reaching around to his backpack to pull out the small plastic bag hidden deep inside.

They were quiet for a moment as Zoro began rolling the next one, and then as Zoro was twisting the ends in place he broke the silence.

“Know how I know you actually want to come?”

“I told you I do. It’s getting me out of this fucking place for at least a couple of months and you’re splitting the cost. I’ve already gotten used to your face so I can’t lose at all in this situation.”

“You didn’t call my tournament stupid.”

“ **You’re** stupid. It means I didn’t feel like wasting my breath.”

“Sure, cook.”

“Do you realize how lucky I’d have to be to claw my way out of the ghetto **and** make it as a professional chef? I would have to start spontaneously going toe to toe with Luffy.”

“Nah,” Zoro passed him the new joint and the lighter, shaking his head when Sanji offered it back. Sanji sighed heavily as Zoro laid back in the grass to watch the clouds disappear into the navy sky, obviously not about to take it back, and clicked the lighter, drawing in smoothly before passing the smoking joint to Zoro’s outstretched hand.

“What about old man Zeff?”

Sanji snorted, starting to find the situation rather humorous. Good, **this** was what he needed. “I’m still amazed he’s put up with me for as long as he has. I have yet to see him get as angry with his own staff as he has with me.”

“He knows you have potential.”

“So? He runs a restaurant. He doesn’t have the time, and I can promise you he doesn’t give a shit.”

“So then why has he kept you around this long? It’s been four months now; I’ve never seen you improve so fast in any other cooking class.”

Sanji was quiet. He followed Zoro’s gaze up to the clouds and inhaled for a second time. Zoro grunted in objection, reaching up to take the joint from his fingers.

“Has it really been that long?” Sanji asked finally. He was starting to really give in to the cloud taking over his mind. It was pleasant. The orphanage used to have a storybook about… clouds smiling or children playing with them or some shit. He’d really liked it, but then one of the asshole kids had destroyed it. Sitting here was giving him déjà vu.

“I think it’s actually been longer. Because you take every Friday off to work fulltime and the teachers have really started to get their panties in a knot over it. The first three months they really didn’t care, but now you’ve pushed a lot of tests between all of the classes.”

“What?” Sanji let out a barking laugh, Zoro catching it and chuckling beside him, both riding a decent wave of happy. Zoro handed Sanji the joint back, having forgotten he was holding it. “Do they think I’m trying to cheat by taking on the great Zeff and nearly getting myself killed every time I walk into that place?”

“Who the fuck knows. Or cares.”

Sanji snorted again, reaching up to shuffle a hand through his hair. He looked down to his hip where Zoro was lying. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes were closed, hands resting behind his head as he drifted on the happy wave. Sanji reached out with his foot and nudged him, making Zoro’s eyes flutter open.

“Don’t you fall asleep on me,” he ordered, a lot gentler than he’d meant to. “I’m not dragging your ass out of here if the cops show. We’re sitting on top of a hill, upwind of a school.”

Zoro scrunched his eyes together, giggling stupidly. “Yeah, we didn’t really think that through.”

“Whatever. No one cares around here. They all think we’re shit and headed for the dead end anyways. I swear they ignore weed because they think it’s the only thing we have.”

“Not for long,” Zoro mumbled, starting to doze off again. Sanji nudged him again with a growl, harder this time.

“…I’m gonna keep calling you “cook”.”

“Ugh,” Sanji groaned loudly. “Just to rub it in? You still going to be calling me that when we’re eighty and dying in the basement of the house of whatever ghetto kids we have that hate us because we have no insurance money or inheritance so there’s no point even getting rid of us?”

He turned to snub the kicked joint out on the ground beside him when he realized that Zoro’s head was in the way. He paused for a second, hand hovering over Zoro’s face, trying to figure out the easiest way around his head to the ground, but he wasn’t quite sure of his ability to distinguish Zoro’s hair from the grass at the moment and ended up turning to rub it into the ground on his other side.

“Because it’s going to happen one day. My dream and yours. There’s no point in ignoring what we want and avoiding the inevitable just because we’re not holding the best hand right now. Game’s still going, and we’re pretty good at bluffing. We’ve got a good chance.”

How was it that the inarticulate bump was more articulate than him right now? And he could hold his alcohol better, though Sanji would chop off his dominant hand before admitting it. It wasn’t fair.

“I want you to come along with me when I travel.”

“I already told you I’d come to the damn tournament.”

“I mean further down the road. When we’re done with all the necessary bullshit,” Zoro waved his hand flippantly at the sky. “Because Zeff will have whipped you into the best cook by then and you’ll have published actually good cook books and traveled and cooked for kings and shit, and I’ll have been the first one to know about your cooking. Even before Zeff.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “You and that bottomless pit of Luffy’s stomach. And shitty macaroni and cheese made by an eight year old does not count as cooking.”

“It was damn good macaroni.”

“It was boxed, dipshit.”

“Yeah,” Zoro gave shot him a look, “because all of the ingredients we bought that I didn’t use and no one else would have used just got eaten up by the gnomes around the house. It was about as boxed as normal noodles that legally have to be sold in a bag to be approved by the FDA.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. What an insult. Stupid idiot. He looked out over the city were the lights were really starting to gleam against the black sky.

“It’s still my favorite.”

“I thought onigiri was your favorite. Why do I go through all the trouble to make it if it’s not even what you really want? Onigiri’s a bitch to get right.”

“Onigiri is my favorite,” Zoro shrugged, ignoring Sanji’s glare. “It doesn’t hold the same memories though. That macaroni made my life ok after Kuina. I never thought I was going to settle into Koshiro’s house. Still think I wouldn’t have if you didn’t give me a reason to just try every day.”

Sanji sat back, contemplating that with the haze in his mind bogging his thought process down. He was pretty sure that was a hell of a compliment.

He finally managed to come up with a retort, minutes later. “You’re a wuss. And you don’t even have the right curves to make it worth it.”

And what a response. Brilliant.

“I thought I was a pussy.”

“It’s starting to seem like you **have** one.”

“You’d prefer that, would you?”

“Not really, no.”

Sanji’s eyes popped as he realized what he’d said. He kept his head facing up to the black sky, pointedly ignoring Zoro’s shift to stare at him with no doubt was a grossly overdone look of bewilderment.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sanji snapped finally when it seemed that Zoro wasn’t going to look away until that comment had been acknowledged. Zoro grinned hugely, rolling over onto his side so he could drape himself across Sanji’s outstretched legs like Sanji was his personal pillow.

“Hey—” Sanji barked, but stopped when he saw the stupidly content smile on Zoro’s face as the green head tucked itself into his arms and the contours of Sanji’s hip. He huffed and looked away, ignoring Zoro’s next huge grin.

“…I’m going to have to have a name for you then.”

“…Huh?”

“If you’re going to call me “cook” I need a nickname for you.”

“Well isn’t that adorable,” Zoro drawled. “We could be the ultra gays of the school.”

Sanji would have slapped him again if it weren’t for the stupid smile giving away his actual opinion. He huffed again, blowing his bangs back into place. He looked down and reached his hand up slowly, threading his long fingers into Zoro’s soft, mossy green hair. Zoro hummed contently and shifted to wrap his arm around Sanji’s waist.

“Marimo.”

“… **What**?” Zoro’s voice had taken a sharp dip and Sanji grinned, scratching gently at his scalp.

“It’s just so soft and round…” he crooned. “It fits you perfectly.”

“ **Hey** —”

“Shh, shh…” Sanji hushed Zoro quietly, holding his head tightly pressed in his lap to keep him from escaping. With the THC, it was also keeping him from having to give up his own high and fight back. Zoro grunted after a brief moment of struggling, flopping back down dejectedly. Sanji laughed and resumed his stroking.

“I think it’s cute,” he warbled.

“There’s no chance of getting rid of this idea, is there.”

“Just think, you could be Marimo Roronoa, swordsman extraordinaire, greatest in the world.”

Zoro just grumbled to himself, turning his face to hide in Sanji’s stomach. Sanji grinned to himself, gaze drifting back to the lights of the city. He never really had a chance to appreciate them the way he wanted to. He started tracing patterns in Zoro’s hair and felt the tense body melting like hot wax under him.

This was nice.

“Are you going to school tomorrow?” he asked offhandedly, not bothering to put any energy into getting his voice to an audible range. Zoro had good hearing. The marimo head looked up, staring blankly at him before they both burst into laughter, falling against each other as they chortled.

“How about instead,” Zoro cut in finally, breaking up the lingering laughter, “we sleep in because you haven’t been able to more then ten times since you started working with Zeff, do nothing but spar and fuck all day, and you can cook whatever you want for meals. We can go to the store tonight.”

Sanji’s automatic retort was waiting in the back of his throat, regarding the fact that Zoro could fuck off because he wasn’t a slave, but that honestly sounded wonderful. It’d been a while since he’d cooked something for Zoro and himself that wouldn’t get interrupted or stolen by the orphanage brats, and wasn’t half-assed as he rushed to get to the Baratie after school.

“That sounds nice,” he answered finally and Zoro smiled gently, laying back down on his lap, and within seconds Sanji could feel the reverberating snores from Zoro’s chest. He looked up to the sky where the stars had finally started to find their places in the night and the moon was coming up over the treetops, illuminating the hill just enough to make it so Sanji could look down and watch Zoro sleep if he so desired.

Oh yeah, this was nice.


End file.
